


Tale as Old as Time

by LoveActuallyFan



Series: Beauty and the Beast [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Antlers, Art, Bacon, Bathroom Sex, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Cover Art, Digital Art, Drawing, Fanart, Father/Son Incest, Frottage, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, Illustrated, Incest, Jealousy, Jean Cocteau - Freeform, Jean Marais, Jodhpurs, La Belle et la Bete - Freeform, Los Angeles, M/M, Multimedia, Porn With Plot, Riding Gear, Rottweiler!Smaug, Sexy Cooking, Shameless Smut, Smaug getting a bath, Talk of Suicide, Thranduil in Riding Gear, Thranduil in an apron, actor!Legolas, actor!Thranduil, beast!Thranduil, evil!Aragorn, film premiere, grumpy!Gandalf, sexy costume fittings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'life imitates art' Thrandolas AU, where Legolas and Thranduil are both actors cast as lovers in an upcoming homage to the 1946 French classic, Beauty and the Beast. They both desperately want their roles, as Legolas is a struggling newbie and Thranduil is chasing the Oscar that has eluded him his entire career, so they decide to disregard the fact that they are father and son.</p><p>Also, Smaug is Thranduil's Rottweiler.<br/>Based off an idea by Azriel_Lolita.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azriel_Lolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azriel_Lolita/gifts).



> **Hello again lovely people**
> 
> So, here it is as I promised, my first Thrandolas AU. I know some of you absolutely hate AUs, but how about you give this one a chance? Just a little one? I promise I'll make it worth your while ;)
> 
> This entire fic is based off an idea given to me by Azriel_Lolita, and I blame her completely for my obsession with this :) As the chapter title suggests, this is just the prologue, setting the scene for what is to come. Therefore this chapter is a tad shorter than the normal length for this work. I have also included a piece of fanart I did, with Thranduil as the Beast. Because I am totally obsessed with beast!Thranduil. *sigh* I blame you Azriel_Lolita!
> 
> Enjoy x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Thranduil%20Beast%20Red%20Edit_zpsqbpqrvvi.jpg.html)

Thranduil stretched languidly, sunlight streaming onto his face and waking him from his slumber. He sighed deeply and flung his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the early morning light. He rolled his eyes under the arm when he felt movement next to himself in his large bed. He threw his legs over the side, tossing the silken sheets from his nude body, before standing.

He didn't turn as he addressed the groggy man in his bed, “You know I don’t like it when you stay over,”

The man propped himself up on his elbows, blinking in the sun that streamed through the windows. He watched as Thranduil slid a wispy robe over his pale shoulders and drew the cord around his hips.

“But you’re so beautiful in the morning, how could I resist?” The man smiled, flexing his pectoral muscles at Thranduil. The blond turned, giving the man a look of derision, before he brushed his long hair aside and leaned against one of the bedposts.

An uncharacteristically sweet smile graced his lips as he whispered; “You have five minutes to leave, Thorin, before I set Smaug on you.” Thranduil turned, sweeping from the room.

Thorin raised an eyebrow before he left the bed and began gathering his clothes. When the man was eventually dressed, he exited the bedroom, heading towards the front door of Thranduil’s lavish, modern mansion. The blond was in his kitchen, brewing a steaming pot of coffee. Thorin smirked as he leaned against the kitchen island; not concealing his gaze of appreciation at the way the robe clung to Thranduil’s body.

“Sure you don’t want me to stay for coffee and round four?” he drawled. Thranduil did not bother to turn around as he let out a high-pitched whistle. Seconds later, a large, growling Rottweiler entered the kitchen. The dog eyed Thorin distrustfully before lowering its head and letting out a deep, guttural bark. 

Thorin let out a slightly nervous laugh, before holding up his hands and backing away from the dog and its master. He exited the mansion just as Galion, Thranduil’s assistant, was entering. Galion threw the man a suspicious glance before rolling his eyes and entering the kitchen.

“You know that he called the paparazzi to catch him leaving?” Galion sighed, raising an eyebrow at Thranduil’s turned back, “They’re all camped out outside your gate,” 

“I get what I want, he gets what he wants,” The blond said hollowly, before turning to his assistant with a freshly brewed cup of coffee clasped in his hands. Galion shook his head long-sufferingly.

“Gandalf sent the film, and the revised script,” he said, handing Thranduil a brown package. Thranduil sipped his coffee cautiously and took the parcel, looking at it thoughtfully. 

“Have they cast the part of Beau yet?” Thranduil asked, tucking the package under his arm and moving out of the kitchen. He fondled Smaug’s ears absently as he walked past him, and the dog followed his master from the room obediently. 

“No, Celeborn says that Elrond has someone in mind though,” Galion followed the pair into Thranduil’s cavernous living room, “Nothing official yet, though,”

Thranduil nodded and took as seat on the huge leather couch that dominated the room. Smaug immediately curled up over his master’s feet. Thranduil ripped the package open before handing the film to Galion and opening the new script he’d received. 

“Who is the someone that Elrond likes for it?” he asked.

Galion shrugged and slipped the film into the entertainment system across the room, “No idea, he’s playing this one very close to his chest,”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Galion as the assistant queued up the film, “And you’re telling me you can’t find out somehow?”

Galion sighed before turning to his boss, “Not this time, Elrond wants someone unknown, so there has been absolutely no chatter from my usual sources,”

Thranduil raised a haughty eyebrow at Galion before returning his attention to the script in his lap and saying, “I’d like to know who I’ll be dry humping for three months, Galion, so find out, yes?” It was a command, not a question, and Galion knew the difference. 

Thranduil looked up as Galion sat down next to him and pulled out his tablet, intending on squeezing every contact he had for information. The assistant did not see the look of irritation that passed over Thranduil’s features.

“Smaug needs to be walked,” he said flatly, eyes searing into Galion. The assistant looked up and caught his boss’s murderous look. He sprang up quickly, grabbing the dog’s collar and leading the Rottweiler from the room and away from Thranduil’s foul mood. Galion had been Thranduil’s assistant for ten years, and the actor’s mood swings did not affect him any more. He happily took the Rottweiler for a walk, his brain working over time to figure out how he’d find the name of the actor that Elrond wanted as Beau.

Thranduil sighed as his assistant left, and pressed play on the film that Galion had queued up. He left the film on in the background as he flipped open the script and began scanning over the new scenes Elrond had added. The film Gandalf had sent was intended as inspiration; it was the work that Elrond had based his masterpiece around. Thranduil was unfamiliar with the 1946 version of Beauty and the Beast, written and directed by the indomitable French director Jean Cocteau. Elrond’s version was much changed, though, set firmly in the modern era with the primary love-story taking place between two male characters. It was widely rumoured that his script had ‘Oscar’ written all over it. 

Thranduil glanced to his mantelpiece. Many statues of many different shapes and sizes stood there, glittering in the mid-morning light. Not one, though, was the gold statuette that taunted him. Thranduil clenched his jaw firmly, before turning his attention back to the script. He needed this, badly, and he’d be damned if some young unknown either bombed the movie or stole his thunder. Neither of those options would be tolerated. It was his year.

Galion found Thranduil still studying the script and watching the classic French film an hour later, when he returned with a worn out Rottweiler. Smaug flopped onto his bed in the corner of the living room before promptly passing out. 

Galion dared to interrupt Thranduil’s intense study, “I spoke to Celeborn,” he said. Thranduil waved a hand that he should carry on, but was only half listening, “They offered the part to someone this morning,”

Thranduil looked up then, pressing pause on the film, “And?”

Galion shuffled under Thranduil’s intense gaze, “He wouldn't tell me, he said that he would be around later to talk to you,”

Thranduil sighed discontentedly, “Fucking casting directors think they own the world,”

“Don’t they?” Galion ventured and Thranduil cast him a look of utter disapproval. He was about to chastise his assistant for the notion when the front doorbell buzzed. Galion started, looking to his boss.

“Maybe that’s him now?” He frowned.

A small smirk pulled at the edges of Thranduil’s lips and he closed the script, throwing it onto the coffee table in front of him, “That’s my eleven o'clock,”

Galion sighed and shook his head before leaving to let the visitor in. Smaug did not even stir from his deep slumber. Galion busied himself in the kitchen as he watched Thranduil greet the guest. She was a small thing, but strong and lithe. She had long, waist length auburn hair and a pretty young face. Galion raised an eyebrow at Thranduil as he entered the kitchen to fetch the guest a drink. 

He was pushing his luck, but said under his breath anyway, “What does this one get out of it?”

Thranduil glared daggers at his assistant before retreating to his bedroom with the woman.


	2. Beau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas has an odd meeting with casting director, Celeborn, and famed screenwriter, Elrond. They have a strange request, that sees estranged son confront unfeeling father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***throws glitter***
> 
> Hello, I'm back. Here is the next instalment of this craziness. Attached is another piece of fanart, because I seem to have gone fully insane with this. Also, I have fallen in love with Rottweiler!Smaug. I view him as Sultan (the little red and gold footstool in the 1991 Disney beauty and the beast) just with more teeth. Yes, he is lying on his pile of gold coins. Again, full blame is on Azriel_Lolita. 
> 
> I have included some Elvish words here, as I like how they worked in the dialogue, and because I can't imagine Thranduil and Legolas calling each other anything but Adar/Ada and Ion. I decided they are just some odd words of endearment that have been used in the family. 
> 
> This chapter also contains some fighting between father and son, so if you don't like angst like that you have been warned.

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Sleepy%20Smaug%201_zpsvqqw8vdj.jpg.html)

 

Legolas picked nervously at the frayed seam of his skinny jeans. The steady, repetitive motion calmed him; fiddling always had, ever since he was a child. The situation he was currently in was odd, to say the least. He’d been through the audition process enough times to know that the experience he was having was far from normal. They usually called. They only ever called. So why was he being tortured by being made to sit in an icy hallway, awaiting his fate?

Legolas sighed nervously and crossed his legs, his fingers again searching for the lose seam to play with. All his agent had said was that they wanted to talk to him. He’d never encountered a casting director wanting to ‘talk’ before, and it made his heart race at the insinuations that rushed through his mind. Surely that would not happen on a production of this scale and prestige. Legolas double-checked the location he was in; he’d been waiting for ages. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and glimpsed himself in the large window across the corridor. It was a rare overcast and miserable day in Los Angeles and he could clearly see himself reflected back. He’d agonised over what to wear, and had eventually settled on his characteristic skin-tight black skinny jeans and a casual white button down and grey jacket. He’d looped his distinctive waist length white-gold hair into a low, messy bun. He cursed his choices now as he scrutinised himself and found fault with everything. 

“Mister Greenleaf?” Legolas hadn’t even heard the door next to him open. He jolted around and was met with the smiling face of a small, mousey woman.

“Uh, yes.” He stood, smiling awkwardly.

The woman gave him a decidedly pitying look before motioning for Legolas to follow her, “This way, please.”

He followed her through a few twists and turns of corridors, before she led him into a large room, lined completely on one side with floor to ceiling windows. A table sat at the far end of the room and Legolas could see a small cluster of people seated at it. He swallowed nervously before heading towards them with as much confidence as possible. That was the key, he’d always been told. As he neared the table, he recognised the casting director, Celeborn, from the day of his audition, along with some of the other casting staff. 

Legolas’ nearly tripped over his own feet when he recognised the figure seated next to the casting director. He tried not to stare as he approached. 

“Ah, Legolas, sorry to keep you waiting,” Celeborn stood, reaching for Legolas’ hand. The young actor shook it, smiling rather uncomfortably, before taking the seat to which Celeborn gestured. 

“I think you know everyone here,” he paused, before smiling at the man sitting alongside him, “But of course not Elrond,” he said and motioned between the two of them. Legolas tried valiantly to keep his surprise, at the famed screenwriter’s presence, in check. 

“No, we, uh… haven’t met,” he stuttered, nodding in respect to the legend.

To his surprise, Elrond greeted him with a warm smile, “It’s very good to finally meet you,” the writer said, studying his face intensely. Legolas became shy under Elrond’s strangely concentrated gaze. He began to fiddle with the seam on his pants again, under the table. 

“Well,” Celeborn said, smiling at Legolas, “Here’s the good news; Elrond here thinks that you are the only person for the part.”

Legolas’ eyebrows shot up and a small smile twitched at the corners of his lips, “Me?” he exclaimed, genuinely surprised. His audition had gone well, very well in fact, but he was a relative newcomer and the audition was for a role that was absolutely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. His agent had insisted he go if only for the practice. 

“You,” Celeborn confirmed before shooting Elrond a somewhat murderous look, “My son-in-law here would not look at any other audition tapes after he’d seen yours. In fact, he refused to consider any other actor for the role of Beau. This is why we asked you here today, Legolas.”

Legolas chuckled softly; barely able to believe that he’d actually landed a part, “Don’t you usually just call?” 

Elrond sighed and took over from Celeborn, “There’s a minor problem-“

“Minor?” Celeborn interrupted incredulously.

Elrond rephrased, “There’s a… problem, with casting you in this part.”

Legolas’ eyes darted between the two men expectantly, but neither one was particularly forthcoming in their explanation. They exchanged exasperated, uncomfortable looks before Elrond reluctantly continued, “You didn't mention to us, when you auditioned, that you were Thranduil Oropherion’s son.”

Legolas’ face fell. He was caught off guard by the statement, which seemed to come completely out of left field. 

“You are his son?” Celeborn asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.

Legolas swallowed thickly before nodding reluctantly. Celeborn sighed, resigned, and leaned back in his seat.

“You don’t use Oropherion?” Elrond enquired, cocking his head in interest.

Legolas averted his eyes, “My father casts a very long shadow in this town, and I didn't want to use his name to advance my career.”

Elrond narrowed his eyes before he mused; “Yet you keep your hair in the same distinctive style as he does,”

Legolas’ jaw clenched and his forehead creased in confusion, “I don’t understand, I didn't think I needed to disclose who my father was?”

The question hung in the air; no one at all willing to address it. Eventually, Celeborn elaborated, raising a hand to scratch at his eyebrow absently, “You may have heard that Gandalf Grey has signed on as director, yes?”

Legolas nodded, yet he was mystified as to how that explained anything. A muscle in Elrond’s right cheek twitched at the mention of the director and the screenwriter pursed his lips in annoyance.

“Uh, yes, well… he is adamant that only one actor can play the part of the Beast,” Celeborn paused, hoping the implication would dawn on Legolas as he spoke. When the young blonde did not seem to understand, Celeborn blurted “He says that he will not direct if any other actor but your father plays the part.”

Legolas blinked once, twice, and then he moved to speak but found that his words died on his tongue. His eyes widened in shock; the sex scene in his audition material flooding through his mind. He doubted there’d be only one in the complete script. He felt a hot blush begin to creep up his neck and cheeks. 

“There’s the look I was hoping to avoid,” Celeborn sighed, turning to Elrond. He rolled his eyes before addressing a startled Legolas.

“I want you for the part, Legolas, no matter what that crazy old fool has promised to your father. This is my passion project; I've been waiting fifteen years to make this and I wont let some crackpot director harpoon my plans,” Celeborn buried his face in his hand as Elrond became more worked up, “It was the studio’s choice to go with Gandalf, I had very little say in the matter, but I have it in my contract that I have final say over who plays the lead… me-”

“Okay, okay,” Celeborn interrupted, placing a hand on Elrond’s shoulder, “You know that you only have final decision over who plays the role of Beau, not the Beast, but that is beside the point, that is not why we asked you here today, Legolas,” Celeborn turned his attention to the young actor, “We wanted you to… talk to your father.”

Legolas was still half in shock as he answered, “Talk?”

Elrond explained, “We want you to ask him to step down, so that you may have the role of Beau.”

“And convince Gandalf that Hugh Jackman would be just as good as the Beast,” Celeborn added optimistically.

Legolas furrowed his brow in utter disbelief at the two men who gazed hopefully at him, “You want me to ask my father to give up the lead role in the most highly anticipated collaboration of possibly the best director and screenwriter alive, so that I, his estranged son, can have a part instead?”

Elrond and Celeborn smiled expectantly. 

Legolas stared at them as though they’d both lost their minds, “Have you met my father?”

**§§§**

“This is not a good idea,” Legolas cringed, eyeing the gates of his father’s home in dismay. Elrond, Celeborn and the nervous young actor were sat inside Elrond’s ridiculously ostentatious Rolls-Royce Wraith, parked outside his father’s sprawling mansion. 

“I haven’t been in that house since I was fifteen,” Legolas admitted, his hands unable to keep still. 

Elrond frowned at Legolas, “You moved out at fifteen?”

“He sent me away to boarding school in England when I was seven years old and usually found a reason for me not to come home during the summer or at Christmas time. The last time I was in that place was to sneak in to grab some things of my mother’s before I tried to drop out of school and leave.”

“Tried?” Celeborn questioned.

“My father had me arrested for breaking and entering. He sent me straight back to school.”

Elrond raised his eyebrows at Legolas before shooting a look at Celeborn. The older man was frowning deeply. 

“Legolas…” Elrond began, intending to offer some sort of wisdom or comfort to the young blonde, who looked paler than he usually did. But when Legolas looked at him, he saw an infinity of hurt and desolation within his eyes and he knew that nothing he could say would help him. Instead, the writer clasped Legolas’ shoulder and said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Legolas smiled sadly at Elrond, before shaking his head and looking away, “I really want this part,” was all he could say. Elrond shot another wary look at Celeborn before sighing.

“Alright, do you want me to come with you?”

Legolas swallowed thickly before shaking his head, “That would probably make it worse.”

Elrond shook his head sorrowfully, before nodding slowly. Legolas looked between the two men nervously before he took a deep breath and exited the Rolls, making his was as quickly as possible to the gates of Thranduil’s mansion. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the unusually cold wind whipping strands of his long blonde hair around his face. 

Celeborn sighed as he watched Legolas speak into the intercom, “Well, that’s fucked up,”

Elrond nodded silently, also watching the young actor. Celeborn turned his attention to the writer, frowning deeply.

“Are you sure he’s the only one, Elrond? Wouldn’t it be easier to keep Oropherion as the beast and find another Beau?”

Elrond leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands and staring intently at Legolas as he made his way through the gates to the mansion, which had finally been opened. 

“There’s something about him, Cel, something intrinsic that I can’t quite put my finger on. He is Beau,” Elrond tried to explain. Celeborn eyed his son-in-law suspiciously before he rolled his eyes.

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that he is an incredibly beautiful man?” 

Elrond scoffed loudly, before shooting a guilty look at Celeborn. The older man raised his eyebrows and laughed.

“Don’t tell Celebrían,”

**§§§**

Galion rushed to the front door of the mansion, his eyes wide in surprise at who he’d just let in the gates. He opened the door slowly, unbelieving at the sight that greeted him.

“Legolas,” Galion said in surprise, a deep frown etched into his forehead. The young blonde smiled at his father’s assistant before entering his father’s flashy palace of a house.

“Hello Galion,” he said, his voice betraying his nervousness. Galion stared, wide-eyed at Thranduil’s son, unsure of what to say. 

“Is my father here?” Legolas asked eventually, looking over Galion’s shoulder into the mansion.

Galion grimaced and looked away before answering, “He is, yes, but he’s a bit… busy.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows and began to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket. He averted his eyes, looking to the floor awkwardly. Galion glanced over his shoulder quickly, before he took pity on Legolas.

“You can wait in the living room, I’ll tell him it’s important,” the assistant offered, smiling at the young actor. Legolas returned the smile gratefully and trailed after his father’s assistant. Soon his was sat on an enormous leather sofa in his father’s ridiculously large living room. He didn't recognise it; it had been completely redone since he’d last seen it, as had the rest of the house. The young blonde’s eyes widened in amazement as he noticed the slumbering Rottweiler in the corner of the room; the dog was snoring softly. 

“My father has a dog?” He exclaimed, gawking incredulously at the Rottweiler. Galion turned to the sleeping dog and chortled.

“A few months ago some paparazzi decided to get rather bold and scale the walls. I pestered your father for months to get a guard dog,” Galion said, ruffling the dog’s ears fondly. Smaug twitched slightly and let out a low, grumbling bark in his dreams, “He’s Smaug, and they’re quite the pair now,” The assistant finished, chuckling at Legolas’ still-surprised face. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Legolas scoffed.

Galion laughed and moved to exit the room, “Do you want anything while you wait?”

Legolas shook his head. Even though his throat was dry from nervousness, he didn't think he could stomach a single thing. Galion nodded before heading off to inform Thranduil of his son’s arrival. Legolas glanced around him, his eyes taking in the strange environment that he should have known well. It was then that he noticed the discarded script on the coffee table; he bit his lip nervously as he read the title. The longer Legolas waited, the more he fiddled with his clothing, his hair, and his own fingers.

He was just losing his nerve when he heard his father berating Galion from outside the room, annoyed at having been interrupted. Legolas rose to his feet quickly, making a hasty attempt at finding a way out of the living room. He was just wondering if he could fit through one of the windows when Thranduil swept in to the room. He was wrapped only in a thin robe and his long golden hair was slightly mussed to one side. He hadn't changed at all since Legolas had last laid eyes on him. He was still the imposing figure that the young blonde remembered, all long legs, long hair and a haughty posture that made even the tallest of people look insignificant. Thranduil stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes met his son’s from across the room. 

“Legolas?” Thranduil questioned, confused as to why his estranged son would be in his living room. 

“Adar,” Legolas managed, holding his father’s gaze. Galion paused in the doorway, his eyes bouncing apprehensively between father and son. 

“Show her out, Galion,” Thranduil commanded and the assistant nodded, closing the door as he left. Legolas fidgeted as he stood in front of his father, now that he was in is presence he did not know how to begin. Thranduil was at as much of a loss as his son. He had not spoken with the boy for nearly five years. He’d grown up in the intervening time; he was taller, more filled out yet still toned and lithe by most standards. And he looked strikingly like his father, especially with his golden hair kept long. His face was more delicate than his fathers, his brow less defined, but the resemblance was still uncanny. 

“Do you need money?” Thranduil eventually said, setting his jaw firmly. Legolas’ eyes widened and he shook his head. 

“Well?” Thranduil raised his eyebrows at his son, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Legolas twisted the sleeve of his jacket awkwardly as he tried to find the best way to approach his father about their situation. Before he could, though, Thranduil let out a heavy sigh.

“For God’s sake, Legolas; spit it out!”

Legolas’ face contorted into one of anger, “You haven’t seen me or spoken to me in years and the first thing you ask is if I need money?” He said it more harshly than he’d intended.

Thranduil drew back slightly, narrowing his eyes as he said, “Well, what else could it be?”

Legolas let out an exasperated sigh, the situation feeling all too familiar to the young actor, “I’m fine, thank you for asking, Adar,”

Thranduil closed his eyes and raised his fingers to his temples, massaging them softly.

“Legolas, please, whatever it is could you just come out with it already? I am expecting a visit from a casting director,”

Legolas felt a small smile creep on to his face for the first time since he’d entered his father’s house. 

“Actually, Celeborn’s not coming in,”

Thranduil’s brow furrowed deeply at his son’s words and he glared at Legolas.

“He asked me to talk to you,” Legolas continued, “about the film.”

“Excuse me?” Thranduil moved forwards dangerously, never taking his eyes off his estranged son. 

Legolas took a deep breath before saying bluntly, “I got the part of Beau, Adar. Elrond wanted me to ask you to step aside from the role of the beast so that I could have the part,”

Thranduil’s mouth parted in momentary shock, and his eyes bored into Legolas’ as he processed his son’s words. 

“You want me to what?” he hissed. Legolas gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. Thranduil had stalked towards him; never breaking horrific, icy eye contact.

Legolas just barely found the courage to stutter, “I-I got the part of Beau-”

“You?” Thranduil mocked, anger flaring in his cold blue eyes as he stopped his approach. He towered over his son, forcing Legolas to look up at his father, “You’re acting now? What happened to your silly Greenpeace nonsense?” Legolas could feel his father’s breath on his face as he laughed at his son. 

Legolas raised his eyebrows, finally breaking the searing eye contact and averting his eyes, “I wanted to join Greenpeace when I was twelve, Adar,”

Thranduil paused a moment, as if he was trying to think back to when he last had an actual conversation with his son. The silence was momentary though, as he changed tack, “Can you even act? God knows you may look like me, but you never had my talent,”

Legolas had to clench his fist at his side to fight the urge to punch his father in the face. Instead he spat, “How would you even know? You never came to a single play I did at school,”

Thranduil waved his hand as if to dismiss Legolas’ words, “You were in England, I was here,”

“You sent me away!”

Thranduil glared at his son, they were both in each other’s faces, panting heavily in anger. Legolas tried to hide the tears that had snuck into his eyes, but they clung to his eyelashes traitorously. His father was too close to him to miss the wetness in his blue eyes, though he didn’t seem to care. 

“Everything okay?” Galion had cracked the door open and had poked his head around it. He’d become concerned at the raised voices, remembering how the last meeting between father and son had ended. Thranduil spun on his heel, furious at the interruption, “Out!” was all he shouted, and Galion’s head promptly disappeared. Smaug was jolted from his sleep at the shouting and he cocked his head at the scene in front of him. Legolas quickly swiped at his eyes while his father’s back was turned, wiping away the tears. When Thranduil turned back around, Legolas held up his hands, shaking his head.

“I didn’t come here to drag up the past, Adar, I only wanted to ask you to-” Legolas was interrupted by Thranduil’s condescending laugh. Father rounded on son once more.

“Don’t delude yourself Legolas, no one in this town would cast you when by doing so they would lose me from the project,” he sneered, staring down at his son. Legolas’ eye twitched in anger at his father’s harsh words.

“It seems Elrond Peredhel would disagree with that,”

Thranduil scoffed, “Well, it seems Elrond has gone senile in his old age!”

“I'm not giving up this role, Adar,” Legolas breathed angrily, his fist still clenched.

“Neither am I,” Thranduil sneered nastily.

Legolas did not know what possessed him in that moment; perhaps it was the fact that a man who didn’t know him at all was degrading his abilities in such a way; perhaps he had had enough of his father’s arrogance; or perhaps he just wanted to rile the man up even further. It was remarkably easy to slip back into his teenage self in the presence of his father.

“Fine,” Legolas shrugged his shoulders quickly, before faking nonchalance; “We’ll both do it then,”

He’d never seen indecision pass over his father’s face before, until that moment. Thranduil recovered quickly, raising a flawless eyebrow at his son, grinning smugly.

“Legolas, you can barely even look me in the eyes, how could you possibly act opposite me?”

Legolas snapped his eyes up, meeting his father’s stare steadily, as if to prove to him that he was capable. Thranduil smirked before he stepped toward to his son, bringing them even closer together. Legolas swallowed compulsively as his father drew up to his full height, looming over him. The young actor could see every individual eyelash of Thranduil’s; he was so close. He wondered absently how his father could still look so young; there wasn't one wrinkle on the actor’s pristine, pale face. 

“Have you read the entire script, ion-nín?” Thranduil purred, his perfect lips drawing back into another sneer. Legolas resisted the urge to close his eyes as his father’s breath ghosted over his lips, “There are many scenes that would not be appropriate for a father and son to perform. How do you propose that you’ll handle those?”

Legolas couldn’t say where he found the strength to glare back at his father, nor could he fathom how he answered the man in such a steady voice, “You always seem to forget something about me, Adar,” he whispered, leaning forward minutely so that he brushed noses with his father. Hesitation flashed through Thranduil’s eyes at the contact. It made Legolas bold to find a crack in Thranduil’s cold veneer, and he leaned further forward, breathing against his father’s lips, “I learned from the best liar in the world,”

The next thing Legolas registered was storming past his father, shouldering the older man out of his way. He was trembling like a leaf as he thundered through his father’s mansion, throwing the front door open and darting for the exit. Thankfully, Galion had seen him exit and had opened the gate for him just as he started to panic that he’d have to re-enter the mansion. Vaguely, Legolas heard the crash of glass breaking as he left the property, retreating back to the Rolls- Royce. Legolas’ eyes were wide in shock at his own actions as he wrenched open the door to the Wraith and threw himself into the back seat, breathing heavily. 

Elrond and Celeborn both spun around to stare at the dishevelled actor who sat, panting, behind them.

“Are you okay?” Celeborn asked, worried at Legolas’ wild-eyed expression. Legolas blinked repeatedly, before clawing at the throat of his jacket, he was sweating and so very, very hot. He struggled for a while, before relenting and ripping the jacket off of himself and flopping back into the seat. Celeborn offered him a bottle of water wordlessly.

“So?” Elrond asked eventually, unable to contain his curiosity. 

Legolas let out a measured, controlled breath, trying to calm himself, before he whispered, “Neither of us will give it up,”

Elrond sighed heavily, “Damn,”

“No,” Legolas said, he cracked the water open and continued, “We’ll both do it,”

Elrond and Celeborn both gawked at the blonde actor as he tossed the water back, taking deep gulps of the soothing liquid. 

“What?!” Elrond squeaked, disbelieving.

Legolas finished the water in one go, before he fixed the screenwriter with a determined glare that left no room for discussion. Elrond was taken aback at how much Legolas looked like his father in that moment.

“We’re both going to do it.”


	3. Aragorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas works outs his notice as a barista in a coffee shop, while fending off a jealous boyfriend. A tenuous cease-fire of hostilities is called between father and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Skids into the room**
> 
> Here is the next instalment, lovely people. Thank you to everyone who left such lovely words of encouragement for the previous chapter, it is always much appreciated :) I have recently acquired tumblr and have a few cute pieces of art up if you wanna have a look: http://therepressedcreative.tumblr.com/
> 
> This chapter is the last before the acting/rehearsing gets under way, and it builds on the father-son relationship. Gets pretty fluffy there for a while. Also, I did two pieces of art for this chapter, and then couldn't decide which one to post, so you get both. Anyone who is a Lee Pace fan will recognise where I took my inspiration from for the second one.
> 
> **This chapter contains a hint of violence, though nothing at all serious. So if manhandling makes you unhappy, perhaps be careful.**
> 
> Also, I have spend this entire week racking my brains for a name for a coffee shop that makes use of the 'rose' symbol. *sigh* I failed, and therefore Legolas' place of work is not named.  
> 10 points for your house if you can give me a cute name that uses flowers/roses in some way. 'Cause it's bloody killing me.

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Legolas%20Final_zps48yvl0gf.jpg.html)

Legolas was incredibly bored, as he usually was at work. It didn’t help that he was a living, breathing cliché; struggling actor, part-time barista. He hated the work, but it paid relatively well and he had to eat. The young blonde consoled himself that in less than a month he would be free from serving ungrateful customers coffee and on the set of a film; a film that would hopefully breathe some life into his career. He would actually take anything over wearing a damn uniform to work everyday. He loathed the ill-fitting white polo shirt and ridiculous apron, emblazoned with the coffee shop’s logo: a hybrid coffee cup and rose. 

“Hello?” an annoyingly high-pitched voice cut through Legolas’ thoughts jarringly. The young blonde turned to serve the customer, who was holding out a bill to him while looking at the menu. 

“Grande, decaf, extra-hot soy Americano with extra foam,”

Legolas was practised at pasting a ridiculous smile on his face and taking money from customers, even when they ordered idiotic beverages. He just viewed it as practice for his upcoming role, as he’d need super-human abilities to act as though he and his father got along. The customer who’d ordered then began to pace in front of the pick up counter, scrutinising Legolas as he commenced making the coffee. He slowed down deliberately; exercising the only control he had, all with a sneaky smirk playing on his lips.

Eventually, the coffee was made and the customer snatched it out of Legolas’ hands, mumbling about poor service on their way out. Legolas only smiled as they retreated. His grin quickly faded on his lips as a raven-haired man slipped into the coffee shop, his eyes immediately meeting the young blonde’s. The man approached the counter, his face stormy.

“Can I help you, sir?” Legolas asked sweetly, averting his eyes from the man’s.

“Can you take a break?” he asked, looking around for Legolas’ manager.

The young actor sighed in annoyance, “I told you two weeks ago that I got promoted to manager, Ar, I can take as many breaks as I like,” Legolas had been promoted only in title, he had no one working under him, so he was still doing all the grunt-work. 

Aragorn wasn’t quite listening to him as he spoke, as usual. Legolas pursed his lips and moved from behind the counter to a small table in the corner of the shop, bordering the large front window. Aragorn took the seat opposite him, immediately fiddling with the tiny ornamental vase on the table, which contained a fake rose. Legolas raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Aragorn to speak.

“So? Have you told them you’re backing out?” Aragorn enquired, his eyes boring in to Legolas’.

Legolas gave the man a dead eyed stare in return, “We’ve been over this, Aragorn, and I’m still not backing out,”

This answer riled the dark-haired man up and he gripped the vase in his fist, his knuckles turning white, “Legolas, you cannot leave for three months,”

Legolas was so incredibly tired of having this conversation; they’d been fighting over the same thing for two weeks now. 

“It’s only Vancouver, Ar, you can come and visit,”

“That’s not the point! You’ll be away from here for three months, humping some famous actor for twelve hours a day!”

It always came back to that: mindless jealousy. Though Legolas had conveniently omitted that the person he’d be humping was actually his father. He flushed faintly at the thought and shifted in his seat. 

“I’m an actor, it’s the job, you knew that when we started seeing each other,”

Aragorn rolled his eyes before he abruptly let go of the vase he was squeezing and instead gripped Legolas’ forearm, his fingers digging in to his flesh. 

“I want you to tell them today, that you wont be doing it,” the man insisted, his grip like a vice around Legolas’ arm. The blonde grimaced and tried to pull away, but Aragorn held fast.

“You’re hurting me,” Legolas said, nervousness causing his voice to crack in the middle of the sentence. His eyes darted around, there was only one couple sitting across the room, yet he didn’t want Aragorn to make a scene. He knew how those scenes ended. 

“You’ll tell them today,” Aragorn demanded, not relinquishing his hold on the young blonde’s arm. Legolas’ heart was pounding in his ears as they both glared at one-another across the tiny table. He tried to wrench his arm away from the grip once more, this time succeeding in pulling his arm free. The pale skin of his forearm had deep red scratches down the length of it where Aragorn had tried to keep hold of him. Legolas sprung up from his seat, heading towards the counter, trying to put something between himself and Aragorn. The other man was too quick, though, and gripped Legolas’ arm, spinning him around violently. While Legolas was strong, he was lithe and slightly built, no match for the stocky man that had grabbed him.

Legolas was about to concede to the man, not seeing any other way out, when his eyes darted to the figure that had just entered the coffee shop. Legolas’ frightened blue eyes met cold, steely azure and his lips parted in surprise. Aragorn noticed Legolas’ gaze darting over his shoulder and he flicked around, keeping his grip on the blonde’s arm. 

Thranduil had been parked outside the coffee house for long enough that Galion had called him three times, enquiring as to when he’d be home. Thranduil hadn’t moved from his position for four hours, his eyes consumed with watching his son. He’d eventually pried out where Legolas worked from a disgruntled Celeborn, who was reluctant to concede anything to the veteran actor. He’d been on the cusp of entering the coffee house to taunt his son many times since he’d first pulled up across the road, yet something had stopped him. Instead, he’d just watched.

He wasn’t surprised at Legolas’ place of work; he had also been a struggling actor, taking any work that came around, when he was younger. He remembered the uncertainty, the long hours, and the desperate auditions. He’d wanted better for his only son. Legolas may as well have been a stranger, though, because as Thranduil watched Legolas serve ungrateful customers and wipe down tables, he realised that he had no idea who he was. He couldn’t have even guessed the first thing about his son. 

Thranduil had brooded for long enough, and was about to end his torture and drive home when he noticed a dark-haired man enter the coffee shop. Legolas moved from behind the counter to sit with the man, and this piqued Thranduil’s interest. He could see the pair clearly as they sat at a small table near the window. Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the scene, something was not quite right; Legolas seemed to be arguing with the man. Thranduil’s brow furrowed deeply as the man grabbed his son’s arm. 

Thranduil did not remember exiting his car, but the look on Legolas’ face as he tried to free his arm from the dark-haired man’s clasp caused a surreal mist to descend over the blonde actor. The next thing he knew, he was wrenching back the door to the coffee shop. His eyes locked with his son’s as he entered; the arguing pair was now standing close to the counter, Legolas’ arm again in the dark-haired man’s grip. The irate man spun to face him, still holding his son.

Legolas froze as Thranduil shifted his stare and locked eyes with Aragorn. His father stood passively in front of the pair, but his eyes burned with an emotion Legolas had never seen cross his father’s ethereal features. Thranduil was an imposing figure; 6’5, well built and with an intensity that made most people wilt under his gaze. In fact, he was downright scary when he wanted to be. Aragorn’s hold on Legolas’ arm faltered and he relaxed his hand, allowing him to slip free. His father’s eyes met his once more, now blanking Aragorn completely.

“Espresso,” he commanded in a booming voice, and Legolas’ eyes widened. Thranduil spun on his heel and strode towards the table that the pair had recently vacated. He sat down and crossed his legs in one fluid motion, looking back towards Aragorn with a glacial glare. Legolas hastily made his way behind the counter and proceeded to make an espresso for his father.

Aragorn set his jaw firmly and leaned over the counter, lowering his voice he said, “We’ll talk about this later,”

Legolas did not acknowledge him, but kept focusing on the espresso. With that, Aragorn made for the exit, avoiding the tall blonde man’s eyes as he did so. Thranduil watched the dark-haired man with contempt as he retreated, eventually fading from sight. He then turned his attention back to his son, whose head was lowered, buried in the coffee machine to avoid his father. Thranduil stared at his son’s back for a few moments, before he rose and made his way over to the counter. He stood watching his son, who was taking an inordinately long time to make one espresso. Eventually, Thranduil realised Legolas had actually stopped making coffee, and was instead merely looking at his hands, refusing to turn around. 

Thranduil glanced about, usually he hated coffee shops as he was always recognised and had to engage in mindless chitchat with fans, along with annoying autographs and photos. There was only one couple in the shop, though they seemed more preoccupied with one another than with what was going on around them. Thranduil shut his eyes for a moment, beseeching gods he did not believe in to help him, before he slunk behind the counter. He came up behind Legolas, not daring to get too close to his son. 

“Legolas,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, and the young blonde flinched in surprise at the closeness of his voice.

Legolas sniffed softly, before he said, “He’s not usually like that, he’s just upset that I’ll be away for three months,”

Thranduil remained silent, staring at the back of his son’s head intently. He’d worn his hair loose, save for two tiny braids behind each of his ears and a large one to pull his hair back out of his face. His hair was long, nearly as long as Thranduil’s own, yet it boasted a deeper golden tone compared to the almost silver appearance of Thranduil’s hair. He preferred Legolas’ hair down, in this way; it reminded him of how the young actor had used to look. Thranduil continued studying Legolas’ hair, as he was at a loss as to what to say to his son.

Thranduil was put out of his misery when Legolas turned, his eyes downcast, to face his father. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, staring resolutely at his father’s impeccably polished black patent leather shoes. Galion must have spent hours on them.

Thranduil immediately noticed that his son was bleeding, “Your arm,” he said, reaching out for Legolas’ wrist. He held his son’s arm up, examining the scratches that Aragorn had inflicted on the delicate white flesh of his forearm. Legolas was dumbstruck as he looked to where his father grasped him, quite unlike Aragorn had. His touch was tender, and he cradled Legolas’ wrist carefully as he inspected his wounds. Legolas could count on one hand the number of times his father had actually touched him. The imperious man was usually loath to touch anyone unnecessarily, and Legolas had always been unnecessary. So, when Thranduil asked if there was a first aid kit, Legolas did not hear him, he merely kept looking at Thranduil’s strong hand, wrapped around his wrist. 

“Legolas? Did you hear me? Do you keep a first aid kit?” Thranduil furrowed his brow at Legolas’ blank stare. Eventually, the young blonde blinked the haze from his eyes and nodded.

“Uh, yes… under the counter… there,” he pointed with his free hand to the cabinet under the counter. Thranduil released his son’s wrist to retrieve the kit, and Legolas found himself gazing intently at his freed arm, wanting the unfamiliar contact again. Thranduil returned to his son, setting the kit down on the counter and popping it open. Legolas watched as his father rifled through the box, searching for something. 

“I can do it, Adar,” Legolas sighed, angling his arm so as to prevent blood from trickling down his skin and onto the floor. After all, he’d be the one who’d have to clean it. He’d never seen his father help anyone with a wound, and he doubted the unfeeling man would be a very good nurse. Thranduil took no notice of his son, and eventually found some saline solution. He opened the bottle and dabbed some of the liquid onto a clean gauze pad before he held out his empty hand to Legolas. The young blonde blinked up at his father, unsure about the situation he found himself in. Thranduil tilted his head wordlessly, his hand still outstretched as Legolas hesitated.

Eventually Thranduil sighed, “I’m not going to bite you, Legolas, now give me your arm,” he commanded. Legolas relented, placing his forearm into his father’s grasp. Thranduil immediately set about cleaning his wounds. The scratches were mostly superficial, but Aragorn’s nails had dug deep enough in one place to break Legolas’ fair skin. The older man made quick work of his task, before he reached back inside the first aid kit, pulling out a plaster. Thranduil used his teeth to rip the packaging open, before he placed the sticky material over the deepest wound on Legolas’ arm. Legolas would have laughed at the serious and intense look of concentration on his father’s face, had he not been so astounded at the older man’s actions. 

“Thank you,” Legolas whispered when his father had finished. Thranduil nodded absently, before he released Legolas’ arm and stood awkwardly in front of his son.

“Does it hurt?” he questioned, his eyes darting back to the kit to search for some painkillers. Legolas shook his head and rubbed his fingers distractedly over the freshly applied bandage. The pair stood in silence for a moment, before Legolas broke it.

“Your espresso has gone cold,” he motioned to the abandoned coffee, still sitting in the coffee machine. Thranduil paid no attention to the coffee, instead fixing his son with a steady stare.

“I don’t think you should see him again,” Thranduil said. Legolas’ eyes snapped up to meet his father’s defiantly.

“Don’t do that, don’t try and be a father to me,” he hissed the words, years of neglect and supressed hurt coming to the fore, “You have no idea about my life!”

Thranduil gritted his teeth, his lips pulling up into a sneer and Legolas braced himself for the onslaught of his father’s temper. Surprisingly, it never came. Instead, Thranduil seemed to reign himself in, schooling his face back into a vacant expression.

“Men who are violent like that don’t change, Legolas. It would not be safe to see him again and I would rather my co-star not be battered to death days before production starts,” Thranduil shrugged nonchalantly, “Do you know how long that would hold up the project, having to find a replacement for you?”

Legolas’ mouth fell open in surprise at what his father had said, and he could not find any words to reply. Thranduil rolled his eyes at Legolas’ silence and moved to the other side of the counter.

“I suggest that you stay in a hotel until filming starts, and leave this godforsaken job, so that he cannot find you,” Thranduil said, while running his finger over the counter and grimacing when it came away with speckles of dust clinging to it.

Legolas scoffed, “I barely have enough money to cover the bus fare home, Adar.” Legolas could not believe his father’s detachment from reality. Thranduil reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out his wallet.

Legolas raised both hands, scowling at his father as he said, “I don’t want your money, and I can take care of myself.”

Thranduil replaced his wallet, fixing the young blonde with a characteristic icy stare as he said matter-of-factly, “Well, then you’ll just have to stay with me.”

Legolas laughed then. He hadn’t lived under the same roof as his father for countless years, and now the man suddenly wanted him in his house?

“If I stay with you we’ll end up killing each other, which kind of defeats the purpose,” he said bitterly, looking down at the counter and fiddling with the edge. 

Thranduil tilted his head, thinking over his son’s words.

“The pool house is unoccupied, that would keep us far enough away from one another so as to prevent a horrific murder,”

Legolas looked up at his father then, realising Thranduil was actually serious. 

“I… I-” Legolas began, unsure as to what to say to the offer. Thranduil interrupted him though, saving him the trouble of thinking of something to say.

“I’ll tell Galion to ready the pool house while I take you to gather your things,” Thranduil whipped his phone out, shooting off a quick text to his assistant, “Where do you live?”

Legolas bit his lower lip and turned away from his father. He reached under the counter and pulled his backpack and jacket out, dumping it unceremoniously in front of his father. Thranduil turned his nose up at the bedraggled, bulging bag.

“I just rent a place across town, this is all I actually own, apart from some dirty clothes,”

Thranduil studied the bag for a moment, before turning his gaze to his son’s embarrassed face. Legolas dropped his head under his father’s scrutiny, ashamed as to how he’d been forced to live since turning eighteen and cutting himself off from Thranduil. He felt like a failure, and the humiliation was made worse by his father’s withering gaze. Legolas was surprised when Thranduil sighed deeply and began texting Galion once more. He’d expected a berating, anger, or at the very least some smugness. 

“You can wear some of my things, I’ll tell Galion to set them aside,” Thranduil said, typing elegantly. When he was done, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and pursed his lips at his son, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Legolas stared, wide-eyed at his father, unsure as to what the man expected of him.

“Well,” Thranduil said sarcastically, “Let’s go then,”

Legolas’ lips parted in surprise, “I can’t just leave work, Adar,”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, “For god’s sake, Legolas, you have a film starting production in less than a month, fuck this hell-hole.” And with that, Thranduil spun on his heel, heading for the door.

Legolas’ eyes darted around the coffee shop, the couple that had been sitting in the corner had departed and the place was deserted. The young actor hesitated, knowing that he should refuse his father’s offer and work out his notice. He thought then about Aragorn, who he was dreading having to see again. Though Legolas could defend himself against the man, he had had enough of his jealous, possessive and violent nature.

Legolas set his jaw firmly as he decided. The young blonde hurriedly ripped off the apron that hung around his neck and tossed it onto the counter. He grabbed his only possessions and quickly followed his father from the building, leaving the coffee house abandoned. 

It was odd, sitting next to his father as he drove back to his mansion. Legolas sat with all his worldly possessions clutched between his legs, and stared out of the window as Los Angeles passed him by. Thranduil occasionally glanced to his son, though they did not speak on the drive. Legolas was consumed in thought; worried that agreeing to his father’s help would sour the tenuous cease-fire that seemed to exist between them. Thranduil was just glad that his son was safe.

It wasn’t a homecoming of any sorts when they eventually pulled in to the mansion’s driveway. Legolas exited Thranduil’s car awkwardly, tossing his backpack over his shoulder and glancing up to the sprawling house. Thranduil stepped from the car gracefully, as always, and Legolas trailed after him up to the front door. Galion was there, and he took Thranduil’s jacket while Smaug excitedly greeted his master. To Legolas’ surprise, Thranduil ruffled the dog’s ears fondly, before engaging Galion in conversation about the pool house’s readiness.

The Rottweiler turned his attention to the visitor, cocking his head at Legolas. They stood, the pet and the son, staring at one another. Eventually, Legolas dropped his backpack and sunk to his haunches, holding out a hand for the dog to sniff. Smaug did just that, his cold nose bumping against Legolas’ hand. Legolas smiled as Smaug gave his fingers a brief but sloppy lick, before he darted off after his master, who’d made his way to the sliding doors that led out to the pool.

“Legolas,” Thranduil called, indulging Smaug in another ear rub. Legolas swallowed thickly and picked up his possessions, walking through the enormous house to join his father. 

The pool house was akin to a large hotel suite, complete with a spacious master bedroom, sprawling lounge, guest bedroom, bathroom and a small kitchen. All immaculately decorated. It was the nicest place Legolas had stayed in nearly three years. As the two blondes entered, Smaug immediately pushed past them and bounded onto the king sized bed. Thranduil scolded him half-heartedly, flicking on the lights. 

Legolas tossed his bag down onto his bed, next to some of Thranduil’s clothes that Galion had found for him. The décor of the bedroom caused Legolas to turn to his father, who was standing in the doorway. 

“Really?” Legolas motioned to the enormous pair of antlers that was mounted above the headboard of the bed.

“I use antlers in all of my decorating,” Thranduil smirked, before leaving his son alone in his new home. Legolas sighed and turned back to the bed, on which Smaug was still happily sitting, his tongue lolling out. The young actor ran his fingers over the luxurious clothes that were laid out; he’d forgotten how expensive material felt. Tentatively, Legolas grasped a soft linen shirt. It was too big for him of course, yet he didn’t care. He raised it up, sinking his fingers into the soft cloth. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he lifted the garment further up, half burying his face in the softness. It smelled like his father, a soft, musky scent that brought back a torrent of memories from his childhood. He shut his eyes, taking another deep breath and losing himself in his thoughts. His head spun, and he felt off balance as the smell of his father surrounded him. 

He was pulled back I to reality by Smaug; who whined for attention from the young blonde. Legolas sighed and released the shirt, letting it glide through his fingers. He shoved a hand through his hair and shivered, before he decided he definitely needed a lengthy shower. 

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Antler%20Smaug%20Final_zpsnh2cf9qm.jpg.html)


	4. Be My Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Thranduil bond, before heading to the first read-through of Elrond's script. The pair are then thrown into an awkward situation at the read-through after party, which leads to some muddled feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***waves***
> 
>  
> 
> Hello. Apologies for the late update, this past weekend was a long weekend for us in SA, and I was forced to do sociable things in the real world. Also, Azriel_Lolita distracted me with Red Pandas. So, blame her.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter, they were much appreciated!
> 
> So, if you've been waiting for a bit of fluff, you're gonna be happy :)  
> I kinda love the fact that Bard is playing the character inspired by Gaston when Luke Evans is actually playing Gaston in the live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast. hee. 
> 
> Enjoy x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/TAOAT%20Chapter%204%20Final_zpsta6jazpj.jpg.html)

Thranduil stood, transfixed by the sight in front of him, in the doorway to his sprawling living room. He’d spent all of the morning in bed, as he usually did on the weekends, only this time his bed had been strangely empty save for himself. He’d dragged himself from the soft blankets, thrown on a thin robe, and had set about making a cup of strong coffee to wake himself up. The latest revision of the script was tucked under his arm, as he intended on perusing it once more before the first read-through, scheduled for later that day. He’d been momentarily confused, as Smaug was usually waiting impatiently for him, whining to be fed. He’d gotten rather used to the Rottweiler, who’d categorically rebelled from being kept outside since he was a tiny puppy, as a fixture in the house. That was when he’d heard the tell tale sounds of the television coming from the living room and had padded through his house to investigate.

He’d found his son curled up on the massive couch, with Smaug snuggled next to him; lying across his legs. The room was darkened, the blinds having been closed, and Legolas seemed to have made himself a massive bowl of popcorn, which rested precariously on the couch next to him. The older blonde tilted his head as he watched Legolas shovel handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, while occasionally throwing Smaug a piece. The Rottweiler seemed to be in heaven; cuddled up against someone and being fed. No wonder the dog had not been waiting for Thranduil to feed him.

While Legolas had his eyes glued to the television screen, Smaug was staring intently at the young blonde, waiting for him to grant him his next morsel. Legolas had on only a pair of Thranduil’s sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and his hair was scraped back messily into a low bun. The clothes were too big for him, and Thranduil had suggested many times that he purchase some things for himself, yet the young blonde seemed to be content to wear his father’s clothes. He also seemed content to spend his days hanging around the pool house, making friends with Smaug and studying the most recent draft of the script. He had also spent an inordinate amount of time sleeping, and Thranduil had come to realise that his son must have been exhausted. He had not realised just how stressful Legolas’ life must have been fending for himself. 

Eventually, Thranduil cleared his throat loudly. He still stood in the doorway, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand and the script under the other arm, and raised his dark eyebrows. Legolas almost jumped out of his skin and he jostled some popcorn into his lap. Smaug hurriedly pounced on the fallen popcorn, crunching loudly. The young blonde hastily paused the film he was watching and pushed some hair that had flopped in front of his eyes out of his face. 

“Adar!” he said, turning to face his father, “I thought you were still asleep.” Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the cosy scene in front of him and did not move from the doorway. Legolas had been living in his pool house for over a week, but Thranduil was still not used to another’s constant presence, as he’d lived alone for much of his life.

“I- I can leave, I’m sorry. The TV wasn’t working in the pool house, and I thought you were still asleep.” Legolas dropped his eyes and made to move Smaug and get up from the couch.

“No,” Thranduil said, still standing in the doorway, “No, stay,”

Legolas paused, looking to his father with hesitant eyes. While they’d managed to avoid any major conflict between themselves, Legolas was still apprehensive in his father’s company. He knew Thranduil’s mood swings all too well, and he tried to avoid spending too much time in the main house, scared he would anger his father in some way.

Thranduil’s eyes darted to the TV screen then, and he looked to the picture displayed on it questioningly. Jean Marais’ face was emblazoned on the large television screen, mid sentence. 

“I wanted to watch it before the read-through,” Legolas explained why he was watching La Belle et la Bête. Thranduil nodded, still unwilling to move from the doorway.

Father and son looked at each other in awkward silence, before Legolas said softly, “Do you want to join me?”

Thranduil shook his head slowly, before he shifted his cup of coffee between hands.

“I was going to read over the script once more,” Thranduil said, taking a step backwards. Two pairs of eyes watched Thranduil exit the living room. Legolas sighed and turned to Smaug. The Rottweiler cocked his head and whined at the young blonde, who promptly threw him another piece of popcorn and flicked the movie back on. The Rottweiler chomped on the popcorn happily, shuffling up Legolas’ legs to rest his head in his lap, his eyes riveted to the bowl of popcorn. 

Thranduil retreated to the sprawling open-plan kitchen, and he perched himself at the table, setting his coffee down and flicking open the script. He tried to focus on the words written in front of him, yet he found his eyes straying through to the door to the living room every few minutes. He could see just far enough into the darkened room to make out the outline of his son, still seated on the couch and illuminated by the flickering light of La Belle et la Bête.

By the end of the film, Thranduil was watching his son more than the pages of the script, studying Legolas reactions to what he was watching. He told himself it was research, because after all acting was primarily reacting to those who acted with you, and he would need to get to know his son’s reactions if they were to respond naturally to one another in front of a camera. 

Thranduil quickly averted his eyes as his son emerged from the living room, his nose buried in his phone. Suspiciously, Smaug and the bowl of popcorn were nowhere to be seen. The young blonde approached his father, still looking down at the screen.

“Jean Cocteau is fascinating,” he exclaimed, “He was a poet, scriptwriter, playwright, illustrator as well as a director.” Legolas took a seat at the table with his father, and the older man drew back visibly, unsure how to interact with his son in such a casual manner. Legolas seemed not to notice, still rattling off facts about Cocteau that he was reading from his phone. Thranduil studied the young blonde’s face as he spoke. He’d never seen Legolas so utterly enthralled by a subject, and he realised that he’d misjudged his intentions for wanting to become an actor. It was obvious that his son was passionate about film, and everything to do with the medium. As he spoke, Legolas’ cheeks turned a dusty pink, and he couldn’t keep the fascination and wonder out of his eyes. His son’s passion reminded Thranduil of himself at that age, discovering the world of the cinematic arts for the first time. 

When he finally ran out of interesting facts about the director of La Belle et la Bête, Legolas was forced to look up at the man who sat opposite him. The young blonde had been so enthralled by Googling Jean Cocteau that he had clean forgotten where he was, or who he was talking to. Legolas stared awkwardly at his father for a moment, before the smile faded from his lips and he looked to the table in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you’re busy,” Legolas said, his eyes fixed on the script in Thranduil’s hands.

To Legolas’ surprise, Thranduil flipped the stack of paper shut and leaned back in his chair, scrutinising his son as he said, “He was also openly bisexual,”

Legolas’ eyes darted up to meet Thranduil’s and he blinked a few times in confusion.

“Cocteau, he was openly bisexual,” Thranduil explained, and Legolas’ raised his eyebrows. His father continued, “The French were very… accepting and accommodating, even back then, lucky bastard.”

Legolas thought he’d hallucinated when he saw the beginnings of a small smile tug at the edges of his father’s mouth. Thranduil chuckled softly to himself, before he saw the wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression on his son’s face. The older blonde quickly schooled his face back to an unreadable expression, before he stood up, rolling the script in his hands. He checked the clock that hung on the kitchen wall. 

“We’d better get dressed, the read-through starts in an hour,” he said, sweeping past his son in a whirl of robes and hair, “Some of the cast are coming over afterwards for drinks, so maybe lose the sweatpants and do something about your hair.”

Legolas sat, motionless for a few minutes when his father had left the room, staring into space. He tried to process what had happened, but his brain rebelled against the fact that his father could actually be a human being, and he was left with the beginnings of a headache. He stood slowly before making his way back to the pool house to scrounge something appropriate to wear. 

§§§

Thranduil froze as he emerged from his bedroom. He was dressed in a suit and dress shirt with no tie and his hair was left down. His mouth dropped open uncharacteristically as he took in the sight in front of him. Smaug was sitting in the kitchen, his face smothered in speckles of butter flavoured popcorn topping. He had the large popcorn bowl in his mouth, spilling pieces of the snack all over the floor as he wandered through the house. The dog stopped dead as he sensed Thranduil looking at him. The older blonde’s face contorted into a frown and he flung his hands up to his hips, giving the Rottweiler an icy stare. Before he could scold the dog, though, Legolas entered the room from the pool house. He also froze at the strange scene in front of him, and Smaug whipped his head around at the sound of someone entering the house. The dog gazed at Legolas with wild, wide eyes and the bowl sagged downwards in his mouth, spilling more of the popcorn. 

Legolas could not help the laugh that escaped his mouth at the livid look on his father’s face and the incredibly guilty expression of the gluttonous Rottweiler. The tableau broke at Legolas’ laugh, and Smaug dropped the bowl with a loud clang on the kitchen floor. The Rottweiler darted towards Legolas, slipping out of the door behind him and vanishing into the garden as quickly as his legs could carry him. Thranduil sighed and rolled his eyes at the behaviour of his dog.

Legolas continued to snigger as he made his way over to one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a broom and dustpan. He set about clearing up the spilled popcorn, purposely avoiding his father’s gaze, as he feared he would not be able to control his laughter at the look on his face. Thranduil studied his son intently as he cleaned up Smaug’s mess. Legolas had donned his usual black skinny jeans, but had paired it with one of his father’s slightly-too-large soft linen shirts, rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into the waistband of the jeans. He had brushed his hair out, and it sat neatly in a small, low bun.

Legolas noticed his father scrutinising his clothes and he asked nervously, “Is this okay?” 

Thranduil pursed his lips before saying, “You need to get some clothes that fit you properly.”

Legolas shrugged and returned the broom and dustpan to cupboard, having swept up the scattered pieces of popcorn. He shot a glance at his father reticently, before whispering, “I like how these ones fit just fine.” 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and shook his head at his son, before he collected the script that sat next to him on the kitchen table.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late,” Thranduil said, heading towards the door. Legolas trailed after his father, tugging at the shirt he wore so that it sat more squarely on his shoulders and smoothing his hair back. 

§§§

Elrond cornered father and son as soon as they arrived at the read-through, practically shoving both actors into a deserted corridor. Legolas fiddled with his shirt as he stood next to his father. His eyes were wide with worry that something was wrong. Thranduil only seemed bored with Elrond’s behaviour, and he crossed his arms, fixing him with a scowl. The screenwriter glanced around nervously, checking if anyone was close, before he dropped his voice conspiratorially. 

“I'm glad I caught you both,” he whispered hurriedly, before hesitating. The two identical pairs of eyes that stared at him caught the writer off guard. While Legolas seemed nervous, Thranduil’s stare bore right through him. Even with the difference of expression, there was no mistaking the similarity of the eyes. Eventually, Elrond found his voice, just as Thranduil was losing patience.

“Celeborn and I, we thought it best not to tell anyone of your… situation just yet,” he said, ending with a small, hopeful smile. Thranduil furrowed his thick eyebrows disbelievingly.

“You what?” he hissed.

Elrond drew back, “No one knows that you’re father and son. We thought it best, it’s only the read-through and it may make some people very uncomfortable.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the screenwriter, while Legolas’ gaze darted between the two men. 

“Look at him,” Thranduil’s voice had dropped to a dangerously low tone, “He looks exactly like me twenty years ago, how will people not figure it out?” He motioned to Legolas, who blushed at the compliment. 

Elrond seemed to be pleased with himself as he said, “Well, we’ve put it about that we cast Beau to mirror a younger version of the beast, so no-one will be surprised that he looks like you.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, “Oh, that’s very thin, Peredhel, these people aren’t complete morons.”

It was Elrond’s turn to look surprised, “That is the first time I’ve ever heard you speak of your co-stars with anything less than contempt, Oropherion,” the screenwriter threw back, “You’re actors, sell it,” he finished, brushing past the two blondes, leaving them alone in the corridor. 

Legolas gazed at his father with big eyes. The young actor was already nervous at the prospect of meeting the cast and the director of such a prestigious film, and his nerves were compounded by the fact that he now had to conceal who he really was. Thranduil let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Keep your lies as close to the truth as possible, they’re easier to remember that way,” he advised his son, before he too exited the corridor to join the people gathered in a large, elegant room that would be used for the read-through. Legolas hesitated in the corridor for a moment, before he took a deep breath and gathered his courage. 

To Legolas’ surprise, the event went off without a hitch. He had milled around the room at the start, making small talk with some of the more minor cast. He recognised some, some he did not, but they were all cordial to the young actor. They were all interested in who he was, and the conversation was easy going. When they’d begun the actual business portion of the afternoon, Legolas had taken his seat next to his father in the centre of the ‘U’ shaped arrangement of tables set up for the read-through. While he’d never attended such an event before, Legolas learned quickly. He was quite familiar with the script, and had no problem keeping up with the pace of the proceedings. If anyone in the room had suspicions about the relationship between the two leads, no one outwardly showed them, even when father and son read the scene that had them pressed together up against a cold stone wall, even when they read the final intense love scenes that were so beautifully written, yet so wrong for a father and son to perform. While Legolas was sure he blushed scarlet as he read, Thranduil was composure itself, and nailed the scenes, even in read-through format. 

While Legolas tried to keep focus on the task at hand, his eyes strayed once or twice to Elrond, who was looking at both leads apprehensively. He smiled encouragingly at the young actor, but Legolas could see the nervous twitch in his eye as the afternoon wore on. He tried to look at Thranduil very little, only when they were talking directly to one another, so as not to seem as though he knew the older blonde next to him, but he was unable to tell if anyone in the room was suspicious. 

The young actor only relaxed when Elrond patted him on the shoulder after the read-through.

“Nicely done,” he smiled at Legolas, and led the young blonde off to meet with some other actors and, to Legolas’ delight, Gandalf. The imposing director seemed to take to Legolas quite well, and Elrond appeared pleased as to how the afternoon was playing out. The young blonde was just relieved that his first major test as an actor had gone exceptionally well, and it seemed as though they would not fire him from a part that he had come to love in his research and preparation. In Legolas’ relief and preoccupation with meeting so many new people, he had lost track of where his father was, and found himself looking around for the man when the crowd began to thin out. 

A rugged, dark-haired actor he had not yet been introduced to sidled up to the lost-looking young blonde and smiled warmly at him.

“Do you need a ride to Oropherion’s?” he offered, and Legolas frowned. Had his father deliberately left him? The young actor pushed the thought from his mind; Thranduil was probably just trying to distance himself from his son, so as to not arouse suspicion. He nodded gratefully at the man who’d made the offer.

“Bard,” the actor extended his hand and Legolas shook it shyly. Bard motioned for Legolas to follow him. Of course Legolas knew who the man was; he was renowned for playing the ‘bad boy’ in nearly every film he starred in, though he seemed nice enough in real life. He would be taking on the role inspired by Avenant, or ‘Gaston’ in the more recent Disney adaptation of Beauty and the Beast. 

It was not a long drive back to his father’s mansion, and it felt even shorter as Bard was easy to talk to and seemed quite friendly. His father’s driveway was packed with cars when they arrived, and Legolas swallowed nervously as he and Bard entered the mansion. Bard gripped Legolas’ arm firmly as they both stood in the hallway, and Legolas flinched at the sudden contact. The older actor lowered his voice and leaned closer to Legolas.

“Be careful of Thranduil, he’s quite fond of fresh meat,” Bard said, quite seriously, thinking that he was doing Legolas a favour by warning him. The young blonde’s eyes widened in shock, and he tried to cover his embarrassment at being told such a thing about his own father. He nodded earnestly at the older man, as though he was taking his advice, though all he wanted to do was remove himself from the situation. 

Struck with a bolt of genius, Legolas turned to his newly made friend and asked if he knew where a bathroom was. He congratulated himself internally on thinking up such a ruse as the man pointed across the house to Thranduil’s bedroom. Somehow Legolas was not surprised that Bard only knew the location of his father’s en-suite bathroom. The young actor smiled politely at Bard and headed in the direction in which he pointed.

Legolas shut the door to his father’s bedroom behind him gratefully, leaning against the cool wood and shutting his eyes. The afternoon had been a whirlwind of excitement and nervous apprehension, and the young actor was exhausted.

“Legolas?”

Legolas jumped, and his eyes flew open. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears as his eyes met those of his father, who was standing in front of him. He had a large glass of wine clutched in one hand, and leaned against a bedpost with the other. 

“Adar!” The young blonde gasped, his voice breathy from the shock; he thought he’d been alone. Thranduil cocked his head at the sight of his son so flustered.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to be alone for a few minutes,” Legolas explained, swallowing thickly.

Thranduil, instead of being angry with his son, as Legolas assumed he would be, sighed a deep, miserable sigh.

“So did I,” The older man raised the fingers of his free hand to his temples and massaged them firmly. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his heart rate return to normal.

“I’m sorry for leaving you there, ion, I thought it would look odd if we left together,” Thranduil said, and Legolas blinked slowly in response. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his father apologise for doing anything in his entire life, and it confused the young actor. As a result, he just stared dumbly at Thranduil. How much had his father had to drink?

His father looked at him pointedly when he got no reply, but Legolas could not find any words, so he stared back stupidly. Thranduil raised a perfect eyebrow at his son’s odd behaviour, before he made to move past Legolas and exit his bedroom. He turned as he reached for the door handle.

“Before I forget, the Line Producer wants to know if you would like a suite in the hotel in Vancouver,” Thranduil said, and Legolas widened his eyes, “He’s the ginger in the red jacket.”

Thranduil once again made to leave, but Legolas’ voice stopped him.

“I don’t know. Is that what you’re getting?” Legolas asked; he had no idea what was expected of him. His father shook his head. 

“I have a cabin up there. I abhor hotels,” Thranduil said, before pausing for a long moment and adding, “You could always stay there with me, I’ve gotten quite used to you being around.”

Legolas was flabbergasted for a second time that night. How many bottles of wine had Thranduil consumed?

“You and me?” The young blonde squeaked, “In a cabin?”

Thranduil smirked, “Well, I say cabin, but I suppose five bedrooms would qualify it more as a small mansion.”

Legolas blinked a few times before saying slowly, “I suppose that would make it easier to rehearse scenes.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement, “So, no suite?”

Legolas shook his head, and he thought for a second that he saw a smile glance over his father’s features. All too quickly though, Thranduil’s face resumed it’s natural, unreadable expression, and Legolas convinced himself he’d imagined it. Thranduil moved past him and headed out to the party, leaving an astonished young blonde behind. Legolas could not help but feel hopeful at the turn of events. Even though his father had probably had one too many glasses of expensive wine, he still smiled at the thought of Thranduil actually wanting him around.

So it was with a hopeful heart, and a small grin, that Legolas walked into the most awkward situation of his entire life.

§§§

“Oh, go on Thranduil, kiss him!” an unidentified voice from the gathering called out. Thranduil didn’t turn to see who’d said it; he was more focused on the wide-eyed expression of his son, who stood awkwardly in front of him. 

Legolas and Thranduil had both walked in to a rather rowdy gathering of actors and various crew. A large drink had been forced into Legolas’ hands and soon the revellers were teasing the young blonde playfully about his lack of experience in playing a lead. This teasing had deteriorated into good-humoured jabs about his on-screen kissing experience. These jabs had very quickly turned into calls for a kiss. Most of the major cast were present, along with a few producers and a very sober looking Elrond, who perched on the arm of a couch and stared at the two blondes in alarm. 

“You two may as well get it over with, it’ll make things less awkward,” another voice urged, and the small group of people laughed.

“I’ve never seen you hesitant to kiss an attractive co-star, Thranduil?” yet another voice questioned and many sniggers fluttered around the room.

Legolas gulped visibly and stared apprehensively into his father’s eyes. Thranduil tried to shrug casually, waving his hand at the gaggle of people around them as if they were talking nonsense. 

“Why are you two being so coy?” someone called, and the rest of the crowd voiced their agreement with the statement. Legolas glanced at Elrond, who was sat wide-eyed at the turn of events.

Thranduil’s brow twitched minutely, and only Legolas was close enough to his father to see it. The young actor’s heart was beating out of his chest, and he cursed himself for letting them get into such a situation. He felt sweat start to gather on his brow, and he quickly dashed a hand through his hair, combing the strands backwards. 

He dropped his voice so only his father could hear, “Just do it, or they’ll never shut up about it.”

Thranduil’s wine glazed eyes bored into his son’s for a few moments, before he turned to the people in his living room and pasted a smirk onto his face. Even when he was slightly tipsy, he was a damn good actor.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” he faked a laugh, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. The crowd cheered. If it was possible, Elrond’s eyes widened even further than they already were. 

Thranduil turned back to Legolas, who’d taken a step towards his father. They stood nearly touching, and Thranduil could clearly see how uncomfortable his son was. Legolas swallowed heavily as his father leaned down, his face nearing his son’s. The young blonde closed his eyes; perhaps if he could not see and tried to blank his mind, he would not remember who was kissing him. Legolas visibly flinched in surprise as he felt his father’s lips touch his cheek for a mere half-second, before he pulled away.

The crowd let out a loud, dissatisfied ‘boo’ at the quick peck on the cheek that Thranduil had given Legolas. 

“I kiss my grandmother with more passion than that!” a voiced called over the general dissent of the people. Elrond’s mouth dropped open at the comment and he took a large gulp of his drink.

Legolas opened his eyes slowly, his gaze immediately meeting that of his father’s, who was still standing incredibly close to him. The noise of the party faded to a dull murmur as Legolas and Thranduil stood staring at one another, and the young blonde was transfixed by the look in his father’s eyes. They were full of apprehension, of uncertainty, but Thranduil was a good enough actor to mask it from almost everyone. Almost. The crowd did not let up their taunting; calling for a ‘proper’ kiss and asking why Thranduil, who was normally all too happy to get close to his co-stars, was being uncharacteristically shy.

Eventually, Legolas could not stand the tension and the teasing any longer. He stood on his toes and leaned upwards, placing a tiny peck on his father’s slightly open lips. It should have lasted a fraction of a second, and that is what Legolas had intended. But, as soon as his lips touched those of his father his brain seemed to stall, and he ended up holding the contact longer than either of them had expected. Legolas could hear the crowd cheer at the pair, though it felt as if all the voices were very far away. All his confused mind could focus on was the way his father’s lips felt under his; how unexpectedly soft they were, how the breaths from their noses mingled together, how he could taste the sweet wine his father had consumed, and how Thranduil’s hand came to rest sweetly on his cheek as they kissed.

Legolas eventually broke contact, ducking his eyes from Thranduil’s and blushing as he turned towards the people gathered around them. They cheered their approval and Legolas picked up the drink he’d abandoned and took a large swig. His eyes met Elrond’s briefly; the screenwriter looked absolutely scandalised at what he had just witnessed. 

Thranduil had not moved from where he’d stood, and his hand was still half raised, having fallen from his son’s cheek when he turned away. The older blonde let out the breath he’d been holding raggedly and clutched the wine glass in his hand tighter, until his knuckles turned white. His tongue darted out, licking over his damp lips and he swallowed hard; he could still feel the firm press of his son’s soft lips against his.

Thranduil’s eyes darted around the room. The crowd seemed to have turned their focus to Bard downing his entire drink, and no one was paying attention to the two blondes any longer. Thranduil seized his chance and silently slunk from the crowded room into the relative safety of his bedroom. He locked the door behind him and leaned heavily against the bed, swigging a huge mouthful of wine from his glass as he tried to steady his swirling mind. Eventually, when all the wine was gone, Thranduil flopped onto his bed, covered his eyes, and prayed for sleep to consume him.


	5. Something There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas, Thranduil and Smaug arrive in Vancouver and head to the 'cabin' in Mirkwood Forest to get settled before filming begins. The pair rehearse a particularly emotional scene late into the night in the house's magnificent living room, and things take an unexpectedly passionate turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Stands awkwardly***
> 
> Hi everybody. So here is the new chapter. I am really quite apprehensive of sharing this, as the second half of this chapter was the first thing I wrote for this particular fic, and it is what got me so obsessed with the idea. I really put a bit of my soul into this one, and so I am a bit of a nervous wreck about it. *sigh* Thanks for all the love on the last chapter btw, always very appreciated. 
> 
> The cover art for this chapter makes use of 'that' photo of Lee Pace when he was cuddling a tiny lion cub, 'cause it was just too cute not to recreate. I am just so pissed that that photo was very probably taken literally 10 minutes from where I live, and I had no idea who LP was back then. Curse me.
> 
> Anyway, I just hope you enjoy the turn this chapter takes. From now on, this story will descend into a deep abyss of raunchy, fluffy angst.
> 
> Gird your loins. x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/TAOAT%20Chapter%205%20final_zpsxhvp4em3.jpg.html)

Legolas rolled his eyes dramatically as he entered Thranduil’s ‘cabin’ in a lush, green woodland just outside Vancouver. The young actor dropped his small duffel bag on the pristine dark hardwood flooring and stepped further into the magnificent house. Smaug bounded around him in excitement at being back to the house, his pink tongue lolling out.

“Adar, this is not a cabin, by any stretch of the imagination,” Legolas called to his father, who had many more items of luggage than his son, and was dragging a heavy suitcase through the front door. “It is the most gorgeous house I have ever seen!”

Legolas spun around and glanced to the ceiling. The drive up to the house hinted nothing at the absolute splendour of the modern mansion nestled comfortably in the woods. The outer façade of the building was mostly a large expanse of cool glass and so blended into the natural tones of the surrounding scenery seamlessly. The inside of the sprawling, multi-story mansion was completely open plan, with the only dividing walls cornering off bedrooms and bathrooms. The décor was minimalistic and chic, making Thranduil’s garish mansion in Los Angeles seem tacky and out-dated. 

Legolas strode over to the large glass wall that bordered the one side of the massive, double height living room that was the heart of the house. The view looked out over a sprawling expanse of forest as far as the eye could see, and it took Legolas’ breath away, he’d always felt a great affinity with the woodlands, and the view mesmerised him. 

Thranduil eventually succeeded in hauling in his luggage, and looked to his son, who was illuminated by the gentle oranges and reds of the setting sun. The property faced west, and was on a slight rise, enabling the smallest smudge of Pacific Ocean to be glimpsed in the distance. The dying sun could just be glimpsed sinking into its waters. Thranduil paused at the sight. Legolas seemed to shimmer in the half-light, the deep gold of his hair almost blinding as he stood, riveted, in front of the massive glass wall. 

Thranduil shook his head of such thoughts, and approached his son, standing tall next to him and letting the weakening sun warm his face.

“Mirkwood,” Thranduil breathed, “It’s glorious, isn’t it?”

Legolas nodded in agreement and was about to comment on the view, when Smaug shoved himself between the young blonde’s legs, causing him to wobble off balance. Legolas stretched out, and caught his father’s shoulder to stop himself falling. Thranduil reached out and wrapped a large, strong hand around Legolas’ other arm, steadying his son.

Ever since the night of the read-through after party, Legolas had been deliberate in his attempts to avoid any physical contact with his father. He was embarrassed at what he’d done that night; he should have just walked away from the situation. Though Thranduil seemed to not remember the incident, Legolas was sure that he was only acting as though he didn’t so as to spare him his embarrassment. After all, his father had not been ‘that’ drunk. 

So, when Thranduil grasped him to stop his fall, Legolas flinched away. He regretted the action immediately, as a brief flash of hurt dashed across his father’s face. Thranduil recovered quickly, though, and rearranged his normally unreadable expression while letting go of his grip on his son’s arm. Legolas tried to make light of the situation and laughed nervously, stooping down to give Smaug some attention, which was what he was demanding when he had knocked the young blonde over. 

Thranduil moved away then, picking up his last piece of luggage and moving towards the master suite. 

“The other bedrooms are just down the hall, there,” Thranduil pointed down a corridor, before he disappeared from sight, leaving Legolas with Smaug in the fading light of the living room. Legolas sighed and rose from his position next to the dog. He strolled around the room, noticing that his father had taken great care in installing the best of everything in the house. The young blonde paused, and he snorted a small laugh when he noticed that a large pair of elk antlers was mounted on one of the dividing walls that bordered the living room. What was it with his father and antlers? His laugh was abruptly cut short as he noticed that there was a small frame, containing a photograph, on one of the intricately carved wooden side tables next to the very modern rectangular couch. 

Legolas immediately went over to investigate. His father hated photographs. He never had any on display anywhere and he loathed posing for them. Legolas assumed that it was his hatred of the snap-happy paparazzi that stalked him that had given him such an aversion. As Legolas approached the photograph on display, his mouth dropped open. Not only was the photograph on full display in Thranduil’s house, but it was also of his father. The man was sitting on the floor, dressed in casual grey jeans and a forest green shirt. In his hands and resting on his lap was a tiny Rottweiler puppy with its tongue lolling out happily. Thranduil was leaning forwards, looking down at the small ball of fur and smiling gently. 

Legolas stared at the picture for a few minutes, before to turned to look at the dog that had come to sit at his side. Smaug looked up at the young blonde with huge, wet eyes for a moment, before he wagged his tail happily and let out a small squeak. Legolas widened his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. His father had always been fond of animals, but was too fastidious in nature to permit the shedding of hair in his general vicinity to keep a pet. Yet here Smaug was, a tiny ball of hairy fluff, shedding all over his father’s pants and shirt, and Thranduil was smiling. Smiling in a way Legolas had never seen. And he had allowed himself to be photographed, and then had taken that photograph and displayed it. 

Legolas turned as he heard Thranduil re-entered the living room. His father strode over to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, intending to make tea. They’d had a long journey flying from Los Angeles to Vancouver and then driving out to the ‘cabin’, and he wanted to relax. 

He paused when he saw the look in Legolas’ eyes, gazing at him from across the sprawling open-plan space. He raised a heavy eyebrow questioningly at the young blonde, but Legolas merely shrugged and padded towards his father. 

“Would you like some?” Thranduil offered, reaching for a teapot and teacups.

“Yes-” he was interrupted by the loud trill of his phone receiving a message. He pulled the device out from his jeans pocket.

“Bard,” he explained who was messaging him, and Thranduil shot his son a look that Legolas did not notice, “A few of the guys are meeting up in the city for drinks, he wants to know if I’d like to come along.”

Legolas looked up at his father, who was plopping teabags into the teapot. Thranduil’s face remained unreadable. 

“Do you want to come with?” the young blonde asked hopefully.

Thranduil shook his head, “I have an early morning costume fitting tomorrow.”

Legolas’ eyes lingered on his father for a moment, before he dropped his eyes to the phone, “Maybe not, I’m pretty tired from the flight and the drive.” Legolas began to type a response.

“You should go, Legolas,” Thranduil said, placing one teacup back in the cabinet, “It would be wise to make friends with your co-stars.”

Legolas scrunched his forehead in thought, before he said, “I was actually hoping to go through a few scenes with you tonight.”

Thranduil shrugged a shoulder in nonchalance, “Perhaps when you return we can throw some ideas around.”

§§§

Legolas cold not prevent his eye from twitching traitorously as his father rounded on him, his mouth twisted into a horrid sneer and his eyes burning with anger. Thranduil was a spectacular actor, and every muscle in his body attuned itself to portray the disfigured and deeply selfish beast. Legolas momentarily forgot what they were doing, and he was awestruck at how his father could inhabit such a role with consummate ease. He was utterly enchanted by the way Thranduil’s lips curled up in disdain, and the way that the older actor hunched his posture and feigned a terrible limp on his left side. The young blonde completely forgot himself, and the character he was meant to be playing.

Legolas had gone to meet up with some of the cast, as Thranduil had suggested, but had quickly found himself thinking of his father, and how he missed his company. Over the past weeks, he had become accustomed to his Thranduil’s presence, and they had become more relaxed around one another. While Legolas was still apprehensive of his father when his mood took a turn, he’d become used to it, and had realised that Thranduil put so much of his effort and soul into his work, that sometimes he needed to shut down for a day or two and retreat back into himself to stay sane. 

Legolas had excused himself from the gathering of actors early. While he’d enjoyed their company, he was itching to get back to the exquisite house in the woods and delve into some of the more emotional scenes with his father. Up until then, the pair had only really rehearsed separately, focusing on their individual scenes. While he’d made progress, he felt that he now needed a scene partner to react to, and he was impatient to get started. His father had been surprised to see him return so early, but had readily agreed to rehearse some scenes with him.

“Legolas,” Thranduil said, when his son did not deliver his next line, “Legolas, hello?”

The young actor shook his head quickly, shaking away the haze that had descended over him.

“Sorry,” he blurted, and his eyes dropped to the script that was clutched in his hand, “Uh, where were we?”

Thranduil sighed and straightened up to his full height, gracefully slipping out of character.

“You’re tired, Legolas, perhaps we should carry on tomorrow?” Thranduil ran a hand over his face and through his blonde hair as he spoke. In truth, he was also exhausted; it had been a long day. Legolas rubbed at his eyes; they’d been running through the first scenes that would be filmed for nearly two hours, and the constant concentration on such intense emotions was taking its toll on the inexperienced actor. Legolas didn’t dare admit to his father that half the reason he couldn’t concentrate was because his co-star enthralled him more than he should.

“Let’s just finish the scene after this one, I want to know what you think about my delivery of my last line…” Legolas paused, looking down to the script for the line, “…‘how could anyone love such a monster, your sheer proximity repulses me.’”

Thranduil looked to his script too, before looking at his son, consternation in his eyes, “That scene ends with some…” Thranduil paused, his tongue darting out to flick over his bottom lip, “…kissing.”

Legolas’ face flashed with surprise. He’d been so concerned with how he’d deliver the final line of the scene that he’d quite forgotten what transpired after it.

“How… how are we going to… how do you want to… you know…” the young actor trailed off, his brow knit slightly. Legolas knew the conversation they were about to have would be torturously awkward, but it needed to happen. 

Thranduil’s eyes widened somewhat, before he cleared his throat and said, “We could decide now what you are comfortable with doing, or we could not rehearse those types of scenes, and just let it happen how it will in front of the cameras.” The script had been vague about what would actually transpire, and Thranduil realised that he did not know what his son was comfortable doing in front of a camera.

Legolas’ brow furrowed even further, “What are you comfortable with?” 

Thranduil’s eyes clouded over, jaded, before he said, “Some kissing and heavy petting is not the worst thing I’ve done in front of a camera, Legolas, unpleasant as it may be to know. I wont reach the boundary of my comfort zone on this project.”

Legolas’ eyes widened in shock as he stuttered, “No, I mean… with me, with me being…”

Thranduil waited for the young actor to complete his thought, but the end never came. He finished it for him, “My son?”

Legolas blushed and nodded furiously. A small smile twitched over Thranduil lips at Legolas’ bashfulness, “I don’t intend to treat you differently to any other co-star I’ve ever had, ion,” he said.

Legolas thought about what his father had said for a few moments before he straightened up slightly and said, “Well, what did they prefer, your other co-stars?”

“Some liked to… practice, to plan angles and hand placements and the like, but I have worked with those who prefer to let that sort of thing happen spontaneously, with no rehearsal,” Thranduil said, eyeing his son thoughtfully. 

Legolas had to gather a fair amount of courage, before he asked, “What do you think we should do?”

Thranduil pursed his lips, thinking for a few moments, before he said diplomatically, “How about we run the lines, and see how it feels in the moment?”

The younger blonde could not argue with that logic, and he shrugged a soft, “Okay,” before he glanced at his script once more, making sure he knew what he was to say. Legolas then set the script down on the nearby coffee table. Thranduil strode over to his son, taking his place a mere step from the young blonde; their chests were almost touching, and Legolas had to look up to meet his father’s eyes. Thranduil paused, looking to his lines before throwing his script down onto the couch next to Smaug, a few feet away. The Rottweiler was passed out on his back, cuddled into the couch, and snoring softly.

“Okay, I’ll start from… ‘Your eyes betray you’,” Thranduil said, breathing in and out quickly, before slipping back into his beastly character. The older blonde’s eyes burned into his son as he hissed, low and slow, “Your eyes betray you, they betray your true feelings. You cannot even look me in the eyes because I disgust you so, and you cannot see past it.” 

Legolas was completely taken in by the character. His father had twisted his head minutely as he spoke, leaning down and forwards to breathe out his lines against Legolas’ cheek. It was disturbing, it was intimidating, and it was enticing. Thranduil’s lips curled up at the edges as he spoke, and the sneer he produced deserved to win an Academy Award right on the spot. 

Legolas paused a beat, matching his father’s stare and pushing back, “You’re right,” he murmured, leaning upwards and getting in his father’s face, “As you always are. You truly are a horrific being.”

Thranduil laughed then, a low, rumbling cackle that sent clawing shivers scuttling up Legolas’ spine, and he didn’t have to pretend that the man in front of him made him afraid. 

“How could anyone love such a monster, your sheer proximity repulses me,” Legolas hissed, pouring all the anger and hurt he could into the words. It was a pivotal moment in the storyline. The dialogue they were throwing at each other was from a scene close to the end, where Beau confronts the Beast and the pair quarrel, eventually leading to the hurling of insults. The scene ends with Beau fleeing from the Beast, leaving him to return home. 

The script called for the two actors to be exceptionally close, almost on top of one another, as the Beast was to grab Beau by the back of the neck, intending to injure him. So, Legolas expected Thranduil to snap his arm up and clutch the base of his hair at the back of his head, but he was not fully prepared as to how the sudden jerk to the right would feel. The young blonde’s face flashed with fear. Real fear. He was sure his father only thought he was acting, but Legolas’ heart started to beat out of his chest as he surrendered to the touch. Legolas was talented at faking his emotions, and managed to seamlessly grab onto his father’s shirt, pushing against the man as was required by him in the script.

That was where Legolas had thought his father might stop; as he had delivered the line that he had wanted feedback on. But Thranduil seemed deeply in character, and he continued without pause, his fingers digging into Legolas’ scalp and twisting as he drew him closer. They were now so near to one another that his father had become blurred in Legolas’ vision, and Thranduil’s lips brushed against the very tip of Legolas’ nose. He felt his father’s heavy, warm breaths tickle against his cheek, and his throat constricted while his nostrils flared at his own laboured breathing. 

The pair froze like that, eyes locked, panting heavily, for what felt like hours. Legolas’ heartbeat roared in his ears, and his blood ran burning hot as he felt his father’s grasp on his hair tighten even further. The script now prescribed that they ravage each other in a manner completely inappropriate for a father and son. Legolas was completely at Thranduil’s mercy, wrapped in his iron grip, yet he found that his initial fear had subsided. Something altogether more pervasive now flooded the young actor. 

Thranduil’s eyes slipped from Legolas’ gaze to look down to his son’s pink lips. He stared at them for a few seconds, before his stormy eyes flicked up to hold Legolas’ once more. Thranduil moved down slowly, tenderly compared to the grip still embedded in Legolas’ hair. Legolas, while still grasping at his father’s shirt, had let his arms go slack and was no longer pushing away from the embrace. Instead, he melted into his father’s arms, and his pulse quickened in excitement as their lips neared one another’s. Thranduil stopped his movements when his mouth was just short of touching his son’s. The older actor’s mind was spinning. He had felt Legolas falter in his resistance and sag into his arms, and the surrender had made his entire body sing in pleasure. His heart roared at him to close the last few millimetres and claim Legolas’ mouth in a frenzy. He desired it more than anything else, and his feelings from the night they had first kissed flooded through his body. He realised that he had stopped acting long ago. 

Legolas’ eyes fluttered closed, his mind now surrendering to the vicious embrace his father had him locked in. The young actor’s skin prickled in anticipation; everywhere that his father’s skin touched his was set alight in joyous, forbidden delight. The feeling of his body responding to his own father’s touch in such a visceral, immediate way caught the young actor off guard, and Legolas gasped softly, his lips falling open. The movement was enough to cause his bottom lip to graze that of Thranduil’s and the older actor moaned involuntarily at the sweet contact. The groan vibrated against Legolas’ lips decadently and the young blonde sagged completely against his father’s strong chest, able to feel the hard planes of muscle underneath his thin shirt.

Legolas waited for the taste of his father’s lips in light-headed anticipation. Memories of Thranduil’s flavour flooded his mind, and his imagination flashed to life conceiving just how delicious his mouth would taste when he was allowed to force his tongue past Thranduil’s lips and lick over his father’s hot, wet palate. The young actor’s body had begun to respond to his imaginings, and the feel of his father pressed against him. The zipper on his jeans pressed cruelly through his underwear and into his achingly hard arousal. Legolas could not remember a time when he had become so incredibly hard at such a small amount of contact. His body began to tremble gently, in anticipation and desperate, aching want.

Thranduil’s mind was in utter turmoil. While he wanted nothing more than to force his mouth against Legolas’ and run his hands all over his gloriously lithe, trembling body, his mind restrained his heart. His mind was screaming through the passionate haze that had consumed him. Screaming that Legolas was his son. His own flesh and blood. It was wrong. He was not acting any more, far from it, and it was wrong. So, Thranduil did not move forward, he only stood, beginning to tremble himself, in his son’s embrace.

Eventually, when Thranduil had not moved for a lengthy amount of time, Legolas opened his eyes and whispered, “Adar.”

Thranduil blinked once, his eyes clearing at the word that was uttered against his lips. He blinked a second time and then, as if resurfacing from a deep, encompassing ocean, immediately released his grip on his son’s hair. He pulled back from the embrace and stepped away quickly, almost tripping over the coffee table in the centre of the living room.

Legolas flinched as his father’s shirt was pulled out of his grasp and gulped audibly as their stares locked from across the room. The young actor carded a damp, shaking hand through his dishevelled hair before he blurted, “W-was that okay? I-I went for the delivery Elrond suggested, angry and hurt at the Beast’s words, rather than condescending as Gandalf recommended.” Anything to fill the silence. 

Thranduil nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his son’s. He took a few moments to blink the last of the fog from his eyes, before he shakily said, “Perhaps we should leave such scenes to spontaneity on set.”

Legolas did not answer his father. Instead, he let out a drawn out, shaky breath and covered his lips with a trembling hand. After a few moments, the young actor nodded, dropping his hand and stuffing it in his jeans pocket, his other hand quickly followed suit. His eyes widened in shock as he realised that he was still achingly hard, and that it was his father who had put him in such a state. He tried to hide his bulging pants as inconspicuously as he could. 

Thranduil titled his head to the side, averted his eyes as if he’d suddenly realised something, and then spun around, retreating to his bedroom as fast as he possibly could. He burst into the room, hurriedly shutting the door behind him and leaning heavily against it, his quaking body needing support. He battled to swallow, his tongue feeling like sandpaper in his parched mouth. His head thudded back against the door and he placed a hand over his eyes, trying to shut out the world and his thoughts as he tried to calm his trembling body and his painful, burning hot erection.


	6. Beau and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas finds himself alone in the sprawling Mirkwood mansion and later watches the end of Thranduil's costume fitting. Legolas is intimidated and flustered while rehearsing scenes in front of a very grumpy Gandalf and Thranduil decides that the only thing that will make him feel better is a ridiculous amount of carbohydrates... and some bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***grins like a maniac***
> 
> Sup. Here is the new chapter with some fanart that took me forever because Lee Pace has the oddest nose in all of creation. In a good way, though :) And yes, carbonara is my favourite pasta. Carbs and bacon. What more is there in life? Upside is, if you don't like the chapter, you still come out of it with a vague idea how to make carbonara. Win.
> 
> Fluff and sexy Pining. Take appropriate action.

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Chapter%206_zpsal0o3c5l.jpg.html)

Thranduil had slipped out of the house early, not waking his son, to make his fitting. Legolas had been relieved, after the awkwardness of the night before, to wake up to an empty house, save for Smaug, who had taken up residence at the foot of Legolas’ bed. The young actor had taken a leisurely breakfast and had wandered around the vast house, exploring. The secluded home was truly a magnificent property. It was obvious Thranduil had taken great care in conceiving the look of the place, and that he had a great attachment to the house and its surroundings. He wondered why he’d never noticed how much his father enjoyed the forest, the quiet and the peacefulness. They had that in common, and Legolas found himself pondering what else they unknowingly shared. He was slowly starting to realise that his father was misjudged by many people, himself included. Though he had always thought Thranduil cold and depthless in personality, as he spent more time with his father, the young blonde recognised the veneer of concealed emotions and the strong instinct of self-preservation that governed all of Thranduil’s interactions with others. It was almost as if Thranduil felt too much, rather than too little, and he limited his emotional attachments to protect himself.

Legolas continued to muse as he explored, Smaug constantly at his heels; the house was massive. Apart from the sprawling living room, kitchen and dining space, the property contained four small bedroom suites, a huge study that’s walls were lined with hundreds of books and looked out over endless trees, and on the lower level an exercise space and a plush home theatre. All were immaculately furnished and beautiful in design. The only space Legolas had yet to see was the large master suite that his father used. He stood apprehensively at the door that led to the rooms beyond. Perhaps it was an invasion of his father’s privacy, but curiosity eventually got the better of the young actor. 

He didn’t know what he had expected but, while the bedroom was large and exquisite, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. It was only a continuation of the beauty of the house, with perhaps a greater affinity for dark wood furniture and the antler theme. Legolas sighed and moved to the king sized platform bed and sat down on the soft, white cotton sheets. He flopped backwards and stared up at the blank, white ceiling as the smell of his father enveloped him. It clung to the linens that he had slept in the night before and invaded every corner of the room, though nowhere as strongly as on the bed. A small smile tugged at Legolas’ lips as he breathed the fragrance in deeply. It was so familiar and comforting that it could calm him instantly, and he had come to love the memories that it evoked now that he had actually shared some happy times with Thranduil.

Legolas was pulled from his musings by the glint of sunlight striking his eyes. He squinted and turned to see what was causing the fleck of light to blind him. To his eternal surprise, there was a small, silver photo frame perched on the bedside table nearest to the large, floor to ceiling windows that doubled as a wall to the bedroom. It was the delicate silver metal work, wrought into patterns of twisting branches and leaves, which was throwing the morning sun onto the young actors face. Another photo of Smaug?

Legolas spun around onto his side, taking a closer look at the picture displayed in the small frame. His heart began to pound violently as he gazed at the two beings represented in it, and he quickly pulled himself into a sitting position, reaching for the frame and cradling it in his hands. He felt a prickling of tears behind his eyes as he took in the photograph. It was surprisingly similar to the one of Smaug and his father that was displayed in the living room, yet in this instance; the tiny being in his father’s arms was Legolas himself. Thranduil had the tiny bundle that was his son cradled tenderly in his arms, and he was smiling down at him, the same gentle smile on his face that was evident in the only other picture in the house. The photograph was old and faded, yet Legolas could still make out the joy that sparkled in his father’s eyes, and he was caught quite off guard by it. Legolas had never seen a single photograph of himself and his father together, nor any of himself when he was a baby. 

Smaug had moved around the bed when Legolas had sat up abruptly, and now had his head resting on the edge of the luxurious mattress, staring up at the young blonde that he had bonded with. The dog sensed the emotion on Legolas’ face and let out a small squeak, his liquid brown eyes riveted to the blonde. Legolas sniffed softly and swiped at his eyes, before he replaced the frame, careful to angle it the same as before so as not to alert Thranduil of the invasion of his bedroom. He sighed at Smaug, before ruffling his ears and making to slide off the bed and leave the room, “It seems that you and I are both worthy,” Legolas said, unable to keep the massive, stupid grin from his face. 

When it had come time to leave, Smaug had whined so pathetically at the prospect of being left alone, and had stared at the Legolas with such big, sad eyes, that the young actor could do nothing else but take the dog with him. Legolas’ costume fitting was scheduled directly after his father’s. While the young actor’s character had a fairly plain wardrobe, the Beast had opulent, flowing robes and sharp, perfectly tailored dress suits, so Legolas wasn’t entirely surprised that Thranduil was still busy with the wardrobe department when he arrived, Smaug in tow. Almost immediately, Smaug was the centre of attention, nearly everyone cooing over the young Rottweiler. The dog was in his element, making friends with all the seamstresses that fondled his ears and gave him a scratch.

The only person who was less than receptive to Smaug’s presence was Bard, who was busy in a far corner of the room with his own team of wardrobe assistants. He eyed Legolas and the dog suspiciously, his gaze darting from one to the other repeatedly, confused as to why Legolas would be toting around Thranduil’s dog. Legolas was too distracted by Thranduil to notice that Bard was throwing him odd looks. 

Legolas’ full attention was on his father, and Smaug slipped from his grasp to explore the room. Thranduil was standing in the centre of the large space, naked from the waist up with his legs only covered in tight fitting trousers and leather boots. Legolas tried to make his staring an inconspicuous as possible, but Thranduil was gazing right back at his son and could not miss the way that Legolas’ eyes traced the contours of his strong chest and muscled arms. The young actor swallowed hard as a wardrobe assistant began to dress his father in a long, immaculately tailored, shimmering onyx tunic that accentuated every perfect contour of Thranduil’s body. 

“Legolas,” Thranduil said, nodding a greeting to his son.

Legolas opened his mouth to return the salutation, but realised that he’d begun to greet his father as ‘Adar’. He quickly changed tack; the strange inflection of his voice apparently going unnoticed by those around him, “Thranduil,” he said, the first name of his father feeling awkward on his tongue.

Elrond had suggested that they wait to inform the cast and crew of their relation, yet once they had begun to deceive the people around them, it had become impossible to suddenly come out with the truth. The pair had quickly realised that no-one but Celeborn and Elrond could know their true relation to one another while they were making the film, as it would undermine the working relationships they both enjoyed with the people they were collaborating with. Legolas knew that when filming began, the toll of pretending off set as well as acting on set would be exhausting, but he couldn’t bear thinking about the reactions that they would receive if people found out about the deception and the impropriety.

So, he’d taken to calling Thranduil by his first name as often as possible while they were in public, just to reinforce the idea that they were strangers. Legolas wouldn’t dare admit that the use of the name secretly gave him a small thrill every time it rolled off of his tongue. It made it easier for him to view Thranduil as a co-star, and not his father. 

“I’m so sorry, Legolas, but Thranduil’s wardrobe is taking longer than expected,” a clear, cheery voice said, and Legolas turned to see a slight, pretty woman wearing an apologetic expression standing next to him. He’d been so enraptured by his father that he had not even noticed the woman approach. “Galadriel,” she said and extended her hand. Legolas shook it with a polite smile, “Your Rottweiler is absolutely gorgeous, how long have you had him?”

Legolas faltered and stuttered out an awkward, “Uh…”

“He’s mine,” Thranduil interrupted, realising that they had been rumbled by the way he had caught Bard throwing dirty looks in their direction, “Legolas is staying with me in Mirkwood while we’re here.”

Galadriel raised an eyebrow at the older actor, before saying, “Ah.” She leaned to the side, half-whispering conspiratorially in Legolas’ ear, “Don’t let him take advantage of you now, he can be very charming when he wants to be.”

Legolas blushed sweetly, though he’d heard much worse about his father over the past few weeks. Thranduil threw the wardrobe mistress a sarcastic sneer, before making to retort with an acerbic quip. He was interrupted though, by a startled cry from across the room.

“Oropherion! Your damned dog just peed on me!” Bard was hopping around, one foot raised off of the floor. Smaug sat next to the irate man, a look of absolute innocence on his face. He cocked his head as every eye in the room darted to him. He wagged his stubby tail furiously at all the attention. Legolas immediately rushed to the dog, grasping his leash and making to exit the room. Smaug followed him happily, completely pleased with himself. Legolas made his apologies to the room as he left to wait outside, insisting that Smaug was actually house trained and that it was an accident. 

Thranduil watched his son exit before smirking at Bard, who was livid, “It seems he mistook you for a fire hydrant, Bowman.”

Thranduil was too busy smirking at his own comment to notice the foreboding look in Bard’s eyes.

§§§

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” Gandalf sighed, rubbing his temples and scrunching his face in thinly veiled annoyance. His long, grey beard twitched as he let out a great, shuddering breath and stood from the chair he was seated in, “What is the matter with you two? I need passion, surrender, love… Legolas, you look like you’re about to kiss your mother!”

Legolas took a step back from Thranduil, ducking his eyes and hanging his head in shame. Thranduil brought his hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp. They’d been running through scenes for hours with the grumpy director, and the stress was beginning to take its toll on both father and son.

“And you, Oropherion! What the hell is the matter with you? You can usually summon lust from thin air!”

Thranduil’s eye twitched at the reprimand and he dropped his hands from his hair, glaring at Gandalf with stone cold, frosty eyes. The director held the gaze resolutely and he shook his head at the pair, “I’m going to get some coffee, sort yourselves out by the time I get back!”

Thranduil’s eyes seared into the back of Gandalf’s head as he exited the small rehearsal space they’d found. The older actor was, very uncharacteristically, having trouble concentrating on his character. Thranduil’s mind was still languishing in is son’s trembling embrace from the night before. No matter what he tried, he could not shake his brain’s insistence on clinging to the intense moment they had shared. It had haunted him the entire night, and he had barely slept. He’d looked like hell in his wardrobe fitting.

Father and son were visiting a near-finished set in the city to meet up with the director and brainstorm some ideas after their morning appointments. Legolas didn’t realise ‘brainstorm’ meant rehearsing for hours and having to endure verbal abuse at the slightest misstep. 

“Oh my god,” Legolas said, clawing at the collar on his shirt and trying to pull it away from his neck, “I don’t think…I don’t think I can do this…” 

Thranduil looked to his son, who seemed as though he was having a mild anxiety attack, “Legolas,” Thranduil began, gently. It was obvious that the young actor had never experienced such an overbearing and insulting director before. Thranduil was used to such prickly demeanours, though he conceded that Gandalf was being more than unreasonable in this particular situation. 

“No, Adar… I don’t think I can… I can’t…” Legolas’ eyes were wild, and a sweat had broken out on his forehead.

Thranduil turned to face the young actor, reaching out for his son, “Legolas, Legolas!” he said, before grasping his son’s shoulders and forcing him to stop squirming. Legolas took huge, heaving breaths as his arms were pinned to his sides by his father. He looked up into Thranduil’s eyes, his own blue orbs sparkling with a tinge of wetness. Legolas raised his hands to grip at his father’s forearms. He dug his fingers in to Thranduil’s shirt, as if trying to find something solid to cling to. His eyes implored his father to help him. 

“Breathe, calm down,” Thranduil said evenly, fixing his son with a stern look. The young actor nodded slowly, still grappling with his panic stricken emotions, “That’s it, breathe, just breathe.”

After a few minutes, Legolas eventually heaved a long breath out and relaxed his grip on Thranduil’s arms, his eyes clearing of the panic that had invaded his mind. Thranduil’s brow knit worriedly at his son, and he studied Legolas’ face for any more signs of anxiety.

“I’m okay,” Legolas finally said, looking up into his father’s troubled eyes. He tried to force a small smile on to his lips to reassure Thranduil, but the expression only twisted his face into a pained grimace. Thranduil’s heart clenched painfully at the though of his son in any sort of pain or emotional distress. He was at a loss as to how he could help him though; he’d never been very good with comforting others, especially not his son.

“It’s okay, Legolas, don’t take it personally. He is just trying to provoke a performance from you,” was all Thranduil could think to say. 

Legolas’ forehead creased in worry, “But I’m not getting it right, Adar, and we haven’t started filming anything yet… what if he decides I’m not right for the part after all?”

Thranduil smiled softly then, he could recognise the panic of doubting one’s abilities all too well.

“Legolas,” he whispered gently, releasing his son’s shoulders and raising his hands to tenderly cup Legolas’ cheeks, “You are an exceptionally talented young actor, you’re just having a bit of an off day today. It happens, ion, put it from your mind and try to relax.”

Legolas barely heard his father’s uncharacteristically gentle, soothing words. He didn’t even register the astounding compliment that his father had paid him. His entire attention was focused on the warm clasp of his father’s large hands on his face. The gentle, encompassing press of flesh against flesh shorted out the young blonde’s mind, and he melted. Legolas still had not made sense of what had transpired the previous evening between his father and himself, and the proximity of Thranduil now only addled his senses even more. “Adar,” Legolas breathed, nuzzling his face into his father’s soft hands.

Thranduil’s default reaction to any sort of tender, loving gestures from others was to pull back in distrust, but he found himself riveted by his son’s gentle rubbing motion. He unconsciously drew forward, tilting Legolas’ face upwards as he did, so that he could gaze into the young actor’s weary eyes. Thranduil towered over his son, and he had to lean down as he brought their foreheads together, pressing his cool skin against Legolas’ warm brow. The young actor shut his eyes at the contact and tried to keep his body from trembling.

Legolas revelled in the closeness between them. Surprisingly, it felt as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be held in such a way by his father. Legolas’ stomach began to flutter when he felt Thranduil rub his nose against his own. The smell of his father surrounded Legolas once more; the scent of the man did strange things to Legolas’ mind. While he had purchased some clothes of his own, Legolas still wore some of Thranduil’s shirts, and he had become intimately acquainted with his father’s clean, crisp, yet slightly musky, fragrance. It reminded Legolas of the smell of the first few rain droplets hitting a forest floor, and it had overtones of spicy indulgence. It enthralled him.

“Adar,” Legolas breathed again, this time bringing a hand up to rest on one of his fathers’ that clasped his cheek. Thranduil stilled at the whispered endearment, before he breathed out a shaky sigh that ghosted over his son’s moist lips. Unable to hold back the sudden, unexpected and foreign emotions that constricted his chest, Thranduil tilted his head, placing a soft, ethereal kiss on Legolas’ high cheekbone. His lips barely made contact with the other actor’s skin, yet he delighted in its smooth texture. 

Legolas’ fingers tightened around his hand as Thranduil placed another kiss on his cheek, this time slightly lower than the last. Then another; firmer than the previous two and grazing the edge of Legolas’ lips. Thranduil was about to lean in and place the fourth kiss squarely on his son’s waiting, slightly parted lips, when the pair was wrenched from their tender reverie by Gandalf’s booming voice.

“Well there you go! That’s exactly what I want!” Gandalf moved through the room to take his seat, a steaming mug of coffee clasped in his hands, “Move your hands to his waist, Legolas, don’t be afraid to pull him against you.”

Legolas blinked up at the startled face of his father, the pair had frozen when Gandalf had interrupted them, and Thranduil’s lips hovered enticingly close to Legolas’. Legolas widened his eyes and desperately searched his father’s face for help; he was in no state to continue with the impetuous, harsh director. Thranduil’s jaw clenched, the muscles of his face pulling taut. He whipped his face around, glaring at the director, yet he didn’t make to move away from, or let go of, his son. Legolas’ eyes did not follow his father’s angry gaze, but instead were riveted to the elegant tendons in Thranduil’s neck that extended when he twisted his head.

Legolas felt frustration well up inside of him at having been denied the touch of his father’s lips once more. He wondered absently how Thranduil’s skin would taste if he just leant forward right then and licked the distended muscles in his neck. He wondered if Gandalf would just assume that he was continuing in character, and that he would get away with gently sinking his teeth into his father’s pale skin, licking and nipping at his pulse point until he made Thranduil moan in desire. He wondered if his skin was as soft as it looked, if it would yield to Legolas’ mouth as he ran his teeth up the length of Thranduil’s neck, right up to the tall man’s chiselled jaw. He would then have to stand on his toes, kissing his way up past his chin, only to suck his plump bottom lip into his mouth and, oh god, his father would taste of coffee and mint and temptation. He wondered if his father would kiss him back, if he would ravage his mouth until they were both panting and moaning and hard with throbbing want. He wondered if he could slip his hands under Thranduil’s shirt, scraping his hands over the expansive, pale skin of his chest and abs. He wondered if Thranduil would just let him, pretending that he too was in character. He wondered if he’d let him when he wasn’t pretending.

“I think that is enough for today, Grey,” Thranduil commanded, “We’ll pick this up the day after tomorrow.” Legolas blinked out of his fantasy and was thrust into disappointing reality. 

Gandalf scoffed, “We still have three scenes to perfect, Oropherion, and I want them done today!”

“Legolas and I have been at this for hours, we’re exhausted,” Thranduil’s voice did not waver, and his icy eyes bore into Gandalf’s, “We will continue another day.” Thranduil moved then, releasing Legolas’ face from his grasp. The young actor immediately missed the contact, and he stuttered forward, trying to follow. He quickly regained his composure and pulled away, standing awkwardly in front of the furious director.

“You do not give orders here, Thranduil!” Gandalf raised his voice at the actor. 

“It seems I just did,” Thranduil retorted, motioning for Legolas to exit the room ahead of him. The young actor hesitated for a second, his eyebrows rising at the sight of Gandalf beginning to turn red. Legolas quickly gathered himself and made for the door, followed closely by his father.

The pair was halfway down the corridor outside when they heard a crash and a muted groan of, “Bloody actors!”

Legolas felt a tiny smile tug at the corners of his lips as they hurriedly strode away, intending to pick up Smaug, who was being watched by some of the crew, and head home. His smile stretched even bigger when he noticed a small smirk on his father’s face.

§§§

Legolas could not help the gentle smile that crept onto his face at the sight in front of him. A few weeks ago he would have scoffed at anyone who had told him that he’d be watching his father cook him pasta, wearing a decidedly un-manly apron and with his hair messily tossed over his shoulders. The older actor was concentrating intensely on the pancetta he was frying while sporadically checking on the spaghetti that was boiling away in a large pot. Thranduil was a perfectionist, and he devoted all his attention to whatever he set his mind to. It was fascinating to watch. Legolas was sitting at the kitchen island counter, observing his father’s cooking skills. Smaug had been roused from his nap on the couch by the pervasive, mouth-watering smell of cooking bacon, and now sat at his father’s feet, his eyes riveted to Thranduil’s every action. 

While the young actor felt better, he was still moping about his first experience with the acclaimed director when the pair had returned to the house. Thranduil had decided that he needed carbs to feel better, and had promptly set about preparing Legolas the ‘best carbonara that he would ever taste’. Legolas had no idea that his father could cook, and had been sceptical at first. But now, watching the man, he realised that Thranduil had hidden depths when it came to domestic abilities.

“When did you learn to cook carbonara?” Legolas couldn’t help his curiosity.

Smaug whined as if he was being tortured as Thranduil plucked a golden cube of pancetta from the hot pan and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, “I shot a film in Rome a few years ago and co-star of mine taught me some…” he paused, raising a single eyebrow at the erotic memories that flooded his mind, “…Italian techniques.”

Legolas was taken completely by surprise at the immediate, vicious jealousy that flared up in his chest at the mention of Thranduil being close to another of his co-stars. While he’d heard many salacious stories about the man in front of him, it wasn’t quite the same as hearing that Thranduil had done such an intimate, tender thing as learning to cook from one of his conquests. 

Thranduil, deeming the pancetta cooked and the spaghetti al dente, turned down the heat on the bacon and gracefully transferred the pasta into the frying pan. He quickly set about mixing the large amount of pecorino, which he had grated, with a few eggs. 

Legolas felt a strange feeling come over him and he narrowed his eyes at Thranduil. He didn’t know if his recklessness was brought on by the unfamiliar jealousy clenching away in his chest, or if his frustration at being denied his father’s kiss earlier that day had returned, but he quickly formed a half-baked plan in his mind, and ran with it. 

“I have figured out how I want to play that scene, the scene from earlier today,” Legolas began, never taking his eyes from his father’s broad shoulders.

Thranduil was only half listening, his concentration on pouring the eggs and cheese into the frying pan with the pancetta and spaghetti. He answered vaguely, “Don’t worry about it any more today Legolas, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Legolas ignored his father’s advice and rose from the chair he was seated in. He made his way around the island, still watching every movement his father made as he combined the mixture in front of him with an adorable look of focus on his features. Legolas stopped just short of standing next to his father. Thranduil twisted the pasta elegantly, dividing the food between two waiting bowls. Legolas waited eagerly as Thranduil sprinkled some extra cheese over the pasta and ground a flourish of black pepper to finish. Looking exceptionally pleased with himself, Thranduil grasped a bowl in each hand and turned. He was startled when he saw how close Legolas was, having not been paying that much attention.

Thranduil paused, holding both bowls and looking to his son, who had a rather odd look in his eyes. Legolas took a step forwards, “I think I should reach for the Beast, rather than him touching me,” his voice was lower and more gravely than he had expected, “Like this.” 

Legolas took one more step forwards, and his father parted his arms, allowing his son to step between the two bowls of food and come nose to nose with his father. Legolas reached up, placing a cool, slightly clammy hand on his father’s ruddy cheek. His pale skin had become flushed while leaning over the heat of the stovetop. Thranduil gazed down at his son, surprised and enchanted at the sudden proximity of the young blonde. 

“And I think Beau should rise up, rather than the Beast leaning down, I don’t think he should always be seen as the helpless, dominated one,” Legolas breathed, barely able to keep his voice steady, “Like this.”

Legolas stood on his toes, coming up to eye level with Thranduil, “I think their first kiss should be one of equals, rather than of the dominance of the Beast,” Legolas whispered, so close to Thranduil that his breath swirled over the older blonde’s lips. 

“Legolas,” Thranduil’s velvety voice rumbled through his son; it was a warning. The young actor pushed the whispered caution from his mind and gave in to what he wanted, what he had craved for longer than he realised. 

Legolas’ lips were on his father’s suddenly, as the young blonde was unwilling to be interrupted by anything again. Thranduil flinched at the feeling of soft, warm lips so abruptly against his own, but after a beat his eyes closed and he surrendered. Legolas lingered against his father, their chests just barely touching and he tightened the grip he had on his father’s cheek, digging the very tips of his fingers into the flesh there. For the young blonde, though, the simple press of lips was not enough, and he recklessly opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick over the bottom lip of his father. Legolas’ eyes rolled back in his head as he tasted the rich, salty flavour of the pancetta that lingered upon his father’s mouth. 

Thranduil’s grip on the bowls of food in his hands slackened, and his arms sagged downwards, letting the pasta slide perilously close to the edges. Smaug, who had been watching the food rather than the actions of his master, stretched up, sniffing at the slowly lowering bowls. Thranduil was too distracted by his son to notice the ravenous dog nearing the pasta.

Thranduil’s stomach dipped violently where his son deepened the kiss, licking against his lips with a wet, seeking tongue. Legolas’ nose was nestled next to his own, and he could feel his son’s ragged breathing vibrate against his cheek as their kiss continued.

Suddenly, the older blonde’s eyes flew open and he stiffened as his senses returned and he realised who was kissing him so tenderly. He was unable to pull away, though, as his body would not allow him to retreat from the pleasure that it craved. 

It was Legolas who pulled back when he felt his father stiffen under his touch. He quickly removed his hand from his father’s cheek and lowered himself off of his toes. Fearing that he’d overstepped catastrophically, the young actor forced a blasé look onto his blushing face, before saying, “Do you think that will work?”

Thranduil’s nostrils flared at the huge gulp of air he inhaled, but he steadied himself, nodding slowly as he pushed the breath from his lungs. Legolas shot a small, casual smile up at his father, before he turned and relieved Thranduil of one of the bowls, just in time to deny Smaug the taste of the pasta which the Rottweiler had been reaching for.


	7. To the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Thranduil bond over the braiding of hair and the bathing of Smaug, and Legolas has a miraculous revelation while taking a shower. The two actors shoot a tender scene in front of a full complement of crew, and it quickly devolves into a passionate, erotic encounter that sees both actors break character in a very unprofessional manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***blushes***
> 
> Hello, here is the new chapter. Thank you very much for all the lovely comments and encouragement for the last chapter, it really made my week :)
> 
> You get two pieces of art this time, because I couldn't decide which one I liked more xD The second piece is inspired by a terribly sad little pit bull taking a bath, so I re-imagined him as how Smaug would look in the same situation. 
> 
> You may have noticed that I have raised the rating for this chapter. For those of you who've stuck around, anticipating sexytimes, thank you, and here is a teaser of what is to come. If you don't like that sort of thing... well, then I just don't know why you're still reading this xP 
> 
> I went a bit overboard with the length. Sorry not sorry. I blame Lee Pace and his fucking adorable hens... *cough* ...sorry, cocks.  
> Happy reading x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Chapter%207%20part%201%20finished_zpsceekaqup.jpg.html)

Legolas woke up painfully. The young actor squinted in the morning sun that was hitting his face; it had woken him up far too early. He tried to sit up, but fell back in agony, his neck going into spasms. He yelped at the pain and then groaned, looking around him. He was sprawled out on the large, modern couch in the living room, his face half buried in one of the few cushions that were scattered about. A thin blanket covered his body, and Smaug, apparently, who was tangled up in the young blonde’s legs. The blanket rippled and flopped off as Smaug woke and jumped from the couch, stretching himself out and shaking furiously. Legolas yawned and wiped at the corner of his mouth. He saw a suspicious wet patch on the material of the couch where he had drooled during the night. He sighed, sitting up carefully and moving the cushion to cover the damp spot.

He was scared out of his skin when he heard the clink of a mug in the kitchen. Thranduil was dressed only in a thin, floor length robe, leaning against the kitchen island looking at his son. His expression was halfway between amused and smug. 

“Adar! You scared me,” Legolas gasped, his heartbeat gradually slowing. He tipped his head to the side, stretching out his neck. He rubbed at the sore muscles tenderly, trying to work out the kinks.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his son, whose hair was sticking up at odd angles, noticing the red lines from the couch cushion pressed into his face, before he asked, “Coffee?”

Legolas groaned and nodded, his fingers still digging into his neck to massage out the stiffness. Thranduil poured his son some coffee, before carrying it over to the sleepy young actor. Legolas sighed gratefully and took the cup from his father.

“Why did you let me sleep on the couch? My neck is ruined!” Legolas said, grimacing at the twinges that were shooting up his neck. Thranduil scoffed and took a seat opposite Legolas, still amused at the ruffled appearance of his son. Legolas looked adorably dishevelled, bathed in soft morning light and Thranduil could not help noting that his son looked beautiful, even when he’d just woken up and still had drool in the corner of his mouth. 

They had begun filming a few days ago, and the pair had not had much time together, shooting individually to begin with. Thranduil would leave early in the mornings and Legolas would only return after his father had gone to bed. So, when they found themselves both in at a semi-reasonable hour, Legolas had suggested that they watch a movie together. Co-incidentally, they both had the next morning free of filming, so Thranduil had agreed. Legolas had whipped out the 1991 Disney version of Beauty and the Beast with a huge, lopsided grin. Thranduil had rolled his eyes and protested, but in the end, Legolas had gotten his way, and they had begun to watch the animated film. 

Legolas had then promptly fallen asleep. Thranduil found that he didn’t mind very much, as his son had sagged over towards his father in his sleep and his head rested against the older actor’s shoulder. Thranduil could not bring himself to disturb his son, so he sat through the rest of the movie, quite content at feeling his son’s deep, even breaths tickle his neck every so often. It even made the movie seem quite enjoyable.

Eventually, Thranduil had to extract himself out from under his sleeping son. He’d dragged the closeness out for as long as possible though, letting the entire reel of credits roll and staring at a blank screen for a few minutes before deciding that he should move. Carefully, he had guided Legolas to a prone position, supporting his head with a small cushion. His son barely stirred as he was manoeuvred on the couch. The hectic filming schedule had taken its toll on the young actor, and he was deep in sleep. 

Thranduil had stood awkwardly in front of a sleeping Legolas for a while, immediately missing the feeling of his son’s head against his shoulder. Smaug was snoring loudly next to the sleeping young actor, and the scene was quite adorable, even to Thranduil. He smiled softly before he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to Legolas’ forehead, just beneath his hairline. The older actor closed his eyes at the sweet taste of his son’s skin, and the delicate floral scent of his hair, before pulling back abruptly and shaking his head to try and banish the inappropriate thoughts that had invaded his mind.

As he’d straightened up, he saw that Smaug had awoken and was staring up at him with huge, liquid brown eyes, fascinated by the show of affection between his blonde master and the young blonde that he had bonded so closely with. Thranduil held the dog’s gaze for a few moments, before he rolled his eyes at the dog’s miserable expression and leaned forwards once more, placing a quick kiss onto Smaug’s forehead also. The Rottweiler seemed immensely pleased and settled down once more, closing his eyes. Thranduil had quickly laid a blanket over his son, and the dog, and had made his way to his bedroom, throwing one last furtive glance at the sleeping figure, before heading to sleep.

So now, as Legolas groaned about being left to sleep on the couch, Thranduil could not bring himself to feel very guilty, “You were the one who wanted to watch that film, and then you fell asleep on me!”

Legolas blushed sweetly at the thought of falling asleep on his father’s broad, strong shoulder. He wondered how long Thranduil had let him lean against him before moving away. Legolas brought the mug he was holding to his lips and took a tentative sip, sighing in pleasure as the hot liquid woke him up. He ran a hand over his face and into his hair and felt immediately that it was a complete mess, sticking up at odd angles. He made to put his coffee down and start to undo the intricate braids that were now untidily out of shape.

“Would you like me to do that?” Thranduil said, studying his son intently. Legolas paused, his eyes darting to meet his fathers, was the man serious?

There was no hint of teasing on Thranduil’s face, so Legolas gulped hard before saying, “If… If you want to.”

Thranduil put his own coffee down, next to his son’s, before he stood and moved over to the young actor, “On the floor,” Thranduil said, tossing a cushion on the floor in front of the couch. Legolas hesitated for a second at the command, a montage of indecent thoughts flooding through his mind, imagining in what other scenarios Thranduil might say those words to him. Perhaps in an even more commanding tone, forceful and dominating. Or maybe he would lean down and whisper it into Legolas’ ear, his breath warming the young actor’s neck. 

Legolas snapped out of his thoughts when he caught the odd look that Thranduil was giving him at his lack of movement. He quickly lowered himself onto the cushion on the floor, allowing Thranduil to take his seat on the couch right behind him, the position giving the older actor perfect access to Legolas’ chaotic blonde hair. Legolas sat stiffly at first, the feeling of his father gently undoing the large braid down the centre of his hair foreign to the young blonde; usually he was the only one who ever did his hair. Soon, though, Thranduil was working out the tiny braids on either side of his head, and Legolas relaxed into the feeling of his father’s fingers running through his hair. 

Thranduil was entranced with his son’s hair. It was so much like his own, having some of the same shimmering light gold tones. Legolas’ hair was considerably deeper in colour overall though, and it reminded Thranduil of how his hair had looked when he was younger. The years had made his hair lighten until it appeared almost white, unless some one was close enough to him to distinguish the golden colours. Thranduil had had waist length blonde hair since his early twenties, and was very experienced in manipulating long golden strands in his dextrous fingers. He used to wear his hair in braids when he was younger, and he expertly started to re-braid Legolas’ characteristic hairstyle. Realising that he was too efficient at braiding, and that he’d be finished soon, Thranduil began to slow his motions deliberately, wanting to draw out the intimate moment for as long as possible.

Legolas noticed the change in his father’s pace, but said nothing and closed his eyes, enjoying the simple, tender act that his father was performing on him. It also seemed as though Thranduil was deliberately running his fingers along Legolas’ scalp more than was strictly necessary. But again, Legolas said nothing and simply revelled in the attention. His skin raised in goose bumps across his entire body when Thranduil pulled particularly deliciously at one of his side braids.

Soon, the young blonde was lost in bliss. Thranduil had taken to intentionally massaging his scalp in between braiding, working out the tension in his son’s sore body, and Legolas could barely contain the moans of pleasure that threatened to spill from his lips. When Thranduil had finished the large, central fishtail plait, he ran his hands over the two completed side braids, smoothing them down. Legolas flinched in pleasure as his father’s hands brushed over his highly sensitive ears, and his body began to pump adrenaline through his veins. His ears had always been particularly receptive to attention, as well as oddly pointed, just like his father’s. 

“Much better,” Thranduil had leaned down, and whispered directly into one of Legolas’ flushed ears. The hairs on the back of Legolas’ neck stood on end, and he shivered. The young actor swallowed hard, his mouth was dry and his heart still pumped wildly. He didn’t dare turn his head to look at his father for fear of not being able to stop himself from climbing onto Thranduil’s lap and forcing his lips against the older man’s.

Thranduil straightened up, admiring his handiwork in his son’s hair, “I was thinking of taking Smaug for a walk in the woods, would you like to join us?”

Legolas nodded, he definitely needed some fresh air. 

§§§

“Oh, for god’s sake! Don’t let him jump on any of the furniture!” Thranduil cursed as they entered the house from roaming the woods. Smaug had found a particularly muddy puddle of mud, and had promptly slathered himself in it, frolicking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Legolas could not stop smirking at the thunderous look on Thranduil’s face. His father hated any sort of dirt, mud or dust, so a bouncing mud-covered Rottweiler was high on his list of worst case scenarios.

Legolas restrained Smaug from entering the house and desecrating Thranduil’s beloved hardwood floors. Instead, the young actor pulled his thin T-shirt up over his head, and threw the piece of material into the house. He also kicked his boots off, removing his socks with them. Tossing his hair over his shoulders, he crouched down and picked up the Rottweiler, holding the dirty dog against his naked chest with his furry head flung over one of Legolas’ arms. 

“Which bathroom?” Legolas asked, his voice slightly strained. Even though Smaug was still young, he was large for his age and weighed a considerable amount for the slight blonde to be carrying him around. 

Thranduil blinked once, then again, before eventually finding his voice and inclining his head to his own master suite, “My bath is bigger,” he said, his eyes riveted to Legolas’ now half-naked appearance. Legolas grunted and began to carry the squirming, muddy Rottweiler to his father’s en-suite. Thranduil’s eyes followed his son out of the room, admiring the strong, flexing muscles of his son’s back, before he shook his head and trailed after the young actor. 

Smaug, realising what horror awaited him in the bath, began to fight Legolas, squirming haphazardly as the young blonde deposited him in the tub. Legolas’ pale chest was smeared with mud and his hair had gotten caught in between his chest and the dog when Smaug had started squirming, leaving Legolas with brown tips to his usually pristine blonde hair. Thranduil entered the bathroom just as Legolas was hopping in to the tub with Smaug, trying to hold him still.

“Rinse him off, will you?” Legolas said, wrangling with the Rottweiler. Though Smaug loved playing in muddy water, he hated baths; absolutely loathed them. 

Legolas eventually got a good grip on the Rottweiler and held him still as Thranduil grabbed the handheld spray head and turned the water to lukewarm. Smaug reeled at the sound of spraying water, but Legolas held him firm between his legs. In the process, Legolas was getting even dirtier and now had a large smudge of mud across his cheek. Thranduil hesitated in wetting the dog, as in doing so he would also have to drench his son. Legolas saw the hesitation and sighed, “Do it, I need a rinse off anyway.”

Smaug flailed futilely in Legolas’ firm grasp, squeaking mournfully, as Thranduil began to hose both his dog and son down. Eventually the Rottweiler stilled, resigning himself to his fate he shut his eyes and stood stiffly in the tub, enduring the torture the two blondes were inflicting upon him. Legolas could not help but chuckle at the young dog, who looked absolutely pathetic with his fur soaked and his eyes clenched shut. Thranduil had a smirk plastered onto his face also as he moved the spray head over the dog, washing away the mud and grime. Legolas was completely soaked, from his long blonde hair to the bottoms of his trousers, and Thranduil found himself having a difficult time not staring at the way that the dark fabric clung to his son’s legs and hips. 

Eventually, Smaug was free of mud and Thranduil turned the water off, throwing a towel in Legolas’ direction. The young blonde set about rubbing the Rottweiler dry, every now and then sliding precariously in the wet bathtub. Gingerly, as if not trusting that his ordeal was over, Smaug opened his eyes to look sadly into Legolas’ mirth filled ones. After a vigorous rubbing and many laughs from the young blonde who dried him, Smaug was dry enough to exit the tub. The Rottweiler, sensing freedom, bolted from the bathroom as soon as he was lifted from the tub, almost knocking Thranduil over in his haste to put distance between himself and the blondes. 

Legolas laughed unabashedly, standing up in the tub and running a hand through his limp, wet hair. Thranduil shook his head in bewilderment at the behaviour of the young Rottweiler, before turning to his son, who smiled lopsidedly at his father. Both blondes smiled at each other for a few seconds, before Thranduil said, “You still have some mud on your face.”

Legolas brow knit together sweetly, before swiping at his cheek with a dripping hand. Thranduil shook his head as Legolas missed the patch of mud completely. Legolas again tried to clean his face, but Thranduil only sighed and stepped forward, bringing his hand up to his son’s cheek and brushing the mud away tenderly. His hand lingered longer than it should have, delicately tracing down Legolas’ left cheek and over his strong jaw, before being hastily withdrawn. 

“There,” Thranduil said, before making to leave, “You’d better take a shower, we’ll have to be heading to set soon.”

Legolas nodded, breathing out a shaky breath as his father left him alone in his bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The young blonde gulped hard, before stepping out of the tub and discarding the wet trousers that clung to his legs. He padded over to the large shower at the other end of the bathroom and hopped in, turning the water on and leaning heavily against the shower’s glass walls.

He bowed his head under the steady stream of droplets that worked their way over his skin, and tried to put the image of his father chuckling at Smaug out of his mind. It was a futile task, though, and Legolas could not help the warm feeling that began to spread through his body, emanating from his heart, at the memory of how happy and carefree his father had looked not minutes ago. His stomach dipped and twisted painfully the more he thought of the beautiful, blonde man and the way he had lovingly wiped the mud from his face just moments ago. Legolas began to have difficulty breathing as foreign emotions invaded his mind and his heart, and he angled his face into the steaming hot water, trying to distract himself from the constricting of his throat. His thoughts were racing, his mind muddled, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes in hopelessness. 

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, realisation struck the young blonde all at once. A moment ago he’d been confused and unable to breathe, and in one glorious second he’d found clarity, though he still struggled to find breath. Though he had never experienced it before, he knew by abrupt, inherent instinct what was happening; what it was that was clawing away at his heart. What it was that was making something as natural as breathing difficult. What it was that caused his stomach to dip every time he saw his father. Once he’d realised, every stray emotion and errant thought that he had been enduring became clear to the young actor, and he wondered how he hadn’t understood sooner. 

He was falling in love.

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Chapter%207%20part%202%20finished_zpsyjfipysc.jpg.html)

§§§

“Do you feel up to trying to shoot scene sixty-two today?” Elrond asked, flicking through the script. They were sitting opposite one another on set, throwing some ideas around about how Thranduil would play some of the final scenes. Thranduil raised his eyebrows at the writer, thinking he was done for the day. “It’s just that if we get through it today, you won’t have to put on all the make-up tomorrow; you’ll be saved the torture,” Elrond explained. 

“That would be preferable,” Thranduil mused, scratching delicately at a part of his face that wasn’t covered in prosthetics or make up. For most of his scenes, Thranduil had to appear to have a hideous, gaping scar across most of his face, and this required two hours of make-up every day before filming could start. It was awkward, hot and very uncomfortable, and Thranduil leapt at the chance to be free of it for once. “I don’t know if Legolas has prepared for that scene though.” Thranduil looked around for his son.

Legolas had been acting odd since he had emerged from Thranduil’s en-suite, freshly showered and clad only in a fluffy white towel. He had not looked his father in the eyes when he’d hurried past the older actor into his bedroom. He hadn’t even looked at Thranduil as they’d made their way to set. Now it seemed as though his son was avoiding him. 

“I’ll find him,” Elrond said, standing and scanning the various cast and crew members milling around for the young blonde. Not finding him, the screenwriter moved off to search. Thranduil watched him go with a concerned expression before he opened his script and began to re-acquaint himself with scene sixty-two. His face immediately faltered when he glanced down at the crinkled pages.

Scene sixty-two was a tiny, insignificant passage in the script that seemed as though it could be shot in ten minutes. There were barely two lines of dialogue, with the rest of the scene being left up to the ingenuity of the actors. It was set on the Beast’s sprawling bed, with a myriad of silken sheets surrounding the actors. The scene called for Beau to be completely naked, while the Beast wore blood red, flowing robes that contrasted with the paleness of the pair’s skin. The scene was intended to be visually gorgeous, offsetting the Beast’s hideousness and drawing attention to Beau’s attractiveness, but it also called for the actors to get exceptionally close. It was by no means the most salacious of scenes that they would still have to film, but it was exceptionally intimate, and Legolas would have to shoot the scene without any clothes on and in bed with his father.

Thranduil’s heart began to pound in his chest at the thought of seeing all of Legolas’ pale, flawless skin on display. He had only seen Legolas’ chest that very morning and had had a hard time averting his eyes. Thranduil immediately lifted his head and searched for Elrond, willing to be put through another round of make-up tomorrow to postpone the filming of such an erotic scene. He wasn’t prepared; he needed time to ready his mind for such a scene or he feared he might lose himself in it. The older actor felt panic rise within himself as a production assistant wandered past him, carrying the sumptuous black silk sheets that were to be placed on the Beast’s bed for scene sixty-two. Elrond must have already given the go-ahead. 

A million excuses ran through Thranduil’s mind, none of them any good. He saw Elrond return to the set, followed by a sheepish looking Legolas, who still would not meet his father’s gaze. The young blonde only had on a black bathrobe, and nothing more. Thranduil eventually resigned himself to the fact that the scene was to be shot right then. After all, they were both professionals, and if Legolas was ready to shoot, then Thranduil had to be too. 

Thranduil watched his son step onto set, under the soft lighting that had been expertly angled and filtered so as to make Legolas’ pale skin seem to glow with an eerie, otherworldly shimmer. Thranduil averted his eyes, along with Elrond and most of the crew, when Legolas shed the robe he was wearing and slipped between the sheets of the luxurious bed. He fussed with the black silk for a few moments, covering himself only enough to be decent. The young actor then leaned back, waiting rather awkwardly for his co-star. 

Thranduil only looked towards his son again when Elrond called for him, and he was hard pressed to act as though the sight did not affect him. Legolas, with his hair loose and his body devoid of clothes, looked absolutely gorgeous and Thranduil was glad of all the prosthetics and make up for once, it gave him something to hide behind. His son was inordinately, ethereally beautiful. As Thranduil walked on to set, he tried to look as casual as possible, though he was doing a better job than one of the production assistants, who had stopped in her tracks to stare at the sight of the fair, lithe young actor lounging against jet black sheets with almost everything on display. 

Elrond was noticeably nervous when Thranduil reached the bed, his eyes darting between father and son in apprehension. Legolas met his father’s eyes finally then, and Thranduil could sense his anxiety. While Legolas’ body looked relaxed enough, his face was pulled taut, tensing as a make-up assistant touched up his chest, abs and face. Thranduil tried to give his son a small smile, intended to reassure him, but with all the make-up he was sure that it came out as a lopsided grimace. 

“Okay, let’s get this done quickly, people!” Gandalf had entered; clapping his hands loudly to startle those around him. His harsh clapping caused Legolas to flinch and his face crinkled in worry. Thranduil recognised the expression from the day Legolas had almost succumbed to his anxiety and the older actor quickly sat down next to his son, placing a strong hand on the young actor’s forearm.

“It’s okay, Legolas, just look at me,” Thranduil dropped his voice to a low whisper. Though the make-up artist had now left their side, he did not want to be overheard. Legolas swallowed hard, but obeyed his father, his eyes locking with the older blonde’s. “That’s it, now, just pretend we’re at home, on the couch, and you’ve fallen asleep on me while we’ve been watching an annoying movie.” 

A small smile tugged at the edges of Legolas’ lips and Thranduil smiled back gently. 

“Come on people, hurry up!” Gandalf bellowed across set, sending crew scattering to take their places.

Thranduil shifted himself in to position next to his son, lying alongside the young blonde. Legolas breathed out a shaky breath as he shifted himself slightly, coming to lie next to his father. Thranduil stretched his arm out and Legolas lifted his head, allowing his father to slide the arm under him. Legolas lay down once more, this time his head was supported by his father’s strong bicep. Thranduil turned his head to look over at the beautiful young actor who was lying in his arms and he smiled, nodding his head almost imperceptibly in reassurance. Legolas took a deep breath and, even though his father was clothed in a heavy costume and had a ridiculous amount of make-up on, the young blonde could faintly discern his natural scent. Legolas felt his heart rate slow immediately at the comforting smell, and he turned into his father’s embrace, reaching out a hand to place against Thranduil’s chest, playing with the clasp over his breast. Neither of the pair noticed the twitch in the muscles under Elrond’s eye as he watched them, just out of frame.

Gandalf was again clapping his hands, startling everyone but the two actors, who had found a comfortable island of serenity in the midst of frantic action. Thranduil felt assistants pulling and tugging at his robes and the bed sheets, creating the effect that Gandalf wanted. They even positioned his and Legolas’ hair, fanning the young actor’s hair across the pillow he lay on. Thranduil brought his hand up, clasping Legolas’ tighter to himself, half to protect his son, half to feel his body closer. Legolas melted in to his father’s tender embrace, the world fading around him. The young actor pulled himself even closer to his father, his eyes fluttered closed sweetly and he nuzzled against Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“Quiet please!” the assistant director called, before Gandalf’s voice pierced the silence and he shouted a few obscenities at the camera operator. Elrond rolled his eyes at the director’s behaviour. The camera was angled directly over the bed, the actors to be panned down to, and the shot was awkward for the operator. 

Legolas was lost. Completely taken in by his father’s tender embrace, he momentarily forgot that he was, in fact, on a film set, surrounded by people, and quite naked. All that he focused on was the steady beat of his father’s heart and the rise and fall of Thranduil’s chest as he took long, deep breaths. He was so lost, in fact, that he barely heard Gandalf shout, “Action!”

Legolas had no lines in the scene, the only dialogue being spoken by Thranduil, but the older actor was equally as preoccupied as his son, and missed his cue. He, instead, was enthralled by the way that Legolas’ skin felt as he traced his fingers over the young actor’s arm.

“Cut, cut, cut, cut! Oropherion!” Gandalf shouted. When the actor did not respond, Gandalf bristled; stepping out from behind the monitor he was watching from and into the path of the set lights. The shadow that was thrown on to Thranduil’s face caused the spell to be broken, and he looked to an irate Gandalf, who shouted, “What are you doing? I said action!”

Thranduil blinked up at the director, his eyes hazy. Legolas opened his eyes at the interruption of his father’s tender caresses and threw a somewhat annoyed look at Gandalf. 

“Your line is…” Gandalf paused, snapping his fingers irritably. An assistant nervously blurted Thranduil’s line out and Gandalf raised his eyebrows expectantly. Thranduil only gave a half nod, before he turned his face towards his son once more. Gandalf rolled his eyes at the two before saying harshly, “Get it together! Everyone, let’s go again!”

This time Thranduil heard ‘action’ being called, and delivered his line flawlessly, looking down at the stunning being in his arms with an overflow of love evident on his face. Legolas gazed up at his father with a similar look of adoration, gently running the tips of his fingers against the hideous scarring on ‘the Beast’s’ face. Thranduil leaned forwards slowly, brushing noses with his son sweetly and closing his eyes at the tender touches.

The script called for a gentle, soft kiss between Beau and the Beast, and Thranduil was only too happy to oblige. He captured Legolas’ mouth in a small kiss, only a press of lips really, yet he revelled in it. He revelled in being allowed to kiss his beautiful son in such a way. Thranduil pulled back after a few seconds, only to rub his nose against his son’s once more. The feeling of their intermingling breaths and the sound of Legolas’ soft whimper as their lips parted caused every hair on Thranduil’s body to stand on end. God, he could listen to that sound forever. 

“Cut! Cut! Greenleaf, no whimpering, you’re not a bloody puppy!” Gandalf admonished, and Legolas blushed, looking away from his father, whose face was still incredibly close to his. “Again! Action!”

Thranduil said his line once more, this time pulling Legolas against his body more forcefully, digging his fingers into the young actor’s silk covered hip and pressing himself against his son. He couldn’t help himself. To be so close to his beautiful, lithe young son sent his senses into overdrive. Legolas gasped softly and rubbed his hand over Thranduil’s ‘scars’ once more. The older actor breathed in his son’s sweet smell as he leaned forwards, nudging their noses together before pressing his lips against Legolas’ for a second time. This time Thranduil tilted his head, deepening the kiss and darting his tongue out to taste Legolas’ bottom lip, echoing the sweet kiss his son had given him while he had cooked him carbonara. 

Legolas began to tremble then, the feeling of his father’s wet muscle stroking against him, even so slightly, sending his mind into oblivion. His heart, which was already thumping rapidly, skipped a beat, and then resumed its pounding at double the pace. He moaned, the sound leaking out around where they were joined. Without thinking, and completely enchanted by the glorious feeling, the musky scent and the delicious taste of Thranduil, Legolas gasped, low and dirty against his father’s lips, “Ada.”

“Cut! For god’s sake, what did you say Greenleaf? Ada? You don’t have any lines, and anyway that’s just unintelligible nonsense!” Gandalf had his hands clasped in his hair, pulling at the grey strands in frustration. 

Legolas was panting hard, looking up at his father’s shocked face. Thranduil fought hard against the urge to pull his son’s naked body against his own, capture his rosy lips in a ferocious kiss, and grind himself against that lean, pale body until he found sweet, blissful release. The way his son had said ‘Ada’, in such an inappropriate tone had seared itself into Thranduil’s mind, setting his body alight. His son hadn’t called him Ada for nigh on ten years, and to say it now, when their lips were pressed to one another’s and their bodies entangled, did unspeakable things to Thranduil’s heart, and body. The word, so innocent, woke a beast inside the older actor, and he began to shake with the force of his restraint, remembering only dimly that they were surrounded by people. He was, for the first time, glad at the ridiculous wardrobe he wore. The heavy robes hid the trembling of his body as well as the arousal that he could feel throbbing away between his legs. His cock had grown impossibly hard the moment Legolas had uttered that word against his lips. His eyes burned into his son’s, his thoughts racing. 

Legolas couldn’t decide if the look on his father’s furious, stunned face meant that he wanted to hit him across the cheek, or roll him over and fuck him into oblivion. Either way, his father was restraining himself. Legolas could tell as Thranduil was trembling like a leaf in his son’s arms. Legolas’ jaw clenched hard as their gaze lingered, far longer than appropriate. 

Eventually, Legolas shook his head to clear his mind when Gandalf shouted, “Okay, let’s go again!” Thranduil blinked a few times, trying to suppress his thoughts and rearrange his face into a tender expression.

“Action!”

Thranduil managed a small, sweet smile at his son, saying his line like the consummate professional. Legolas, once again, stroked his hand over Thranduil’s face, lingering on the fake scar. This time, though, Thranduil could feel a delicate tremor in his son’s hand. The older actor leaned down, touching the tips of their noses together as his eyes slipped closed involuntarily. His blood was still on fire from the previous take, and he could barely prevent himself from ravaging Legolas’ mouth. Instead, he summoned all of his willpower and placed a soft, chaste kiss on Legolas’ slightly swollen lips.

Legolas was over and under stimulated all at once, and it was driving him mad with desire. He couldn’t help but press his body against his father’s, sliding his knee up over one of Thranduil thighs and pressing their hips together. It was then that he felt the unmistakable bulge hidden by Thranduil’s robes. Legolas stilled and sucked in a startled breath through his nose, his lips still pressed against Thranduil’s, and his brain turned to mush. All he could process was that his father’s cock was hard; for him. His beautiful, glorious father was achingly hard because of his kisses. His touches. His moans. He had made his father want him in a way a father should never want his son. This revelation filled his veins with a burning passion to claim the man, to rut until he saw stars, to sink his fingers into Thranduil’s long blonde hair and pull until his father moaned in ecstasy, and to sink his teeth into the older actor’s exposed neck, marking him as his own. Legolas was lost once more, and he feared that he would never again be found. 

Thranduil was caught completely off guard when his son yanked the clothing covering his chest harshly, pulling their chests together. Legolas’ tongue pushed into his mouth abruptly, forcing its way between his closed lips. Thranduil moaned loudly at the delicious, heady taste of his son’s mouth, and the way Legolas’ hot, wet tongue curled around his own. He yielded completely to his Legolas’ touch, his body arching into the young actor, forcing their bodies to rub against one another. Legolas ground his hipbone into Thranduil’s hard cock, unashamedly humping into his father’s upper thigh with his own burning hot arousal. He needed the friction urgently and his movements were frantic and stuttered. Desperate for more, Legolas slipped a hand into Thranduil’s robes, finding the soft, silky skin of his father’s abdomen. He dug his nails into the flesh, grasping frenziedly and he moaned as he felt his father claw at his naked back, surely leaving great red scratch marks. 

“Cut! Cut! For god’s-fucking-sake,” Gandalf shouted, rolling his eyes. “Greenleaf! The kiss is supposed to be chaste; we’re not making porn here! What the hell are you doing? Stop! Legolas! Stop!”

Legolas had continued to plunder his father’s mouth and grind himself wantonly against Thranduil’s rock hard cock, ignoring the shout of ‘cut’. Thranduil had tried to pull back when he’d heard the call, the word bringing the older actor back into reality, but Legolas had chased after his lips, bringing them together once more. He moaned softly against his father’s lips and sucked Thranduil’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting down gently on it. 

“Legolas,” Thranduil hissed between his son’s greedy kisses, eventually succeeding in prying him off. Legolas blinked rapidly, confused at being ripped away from his fathers lips. He blanched at Thranduil’s scarred appearance, having completely forgotten that they were on set, playing characters.

Vaguely, Legolas heard Gandalf curse and push something over in his frustration, ranting that he didn’t need the scene and that actors were utterly impossible to work with, before he vacated the set. His assistant director stepped forward awkwardly, before declaring that the day was over. He then quickly ran after Gandalf, throwing apologetic glances around at the crew. 

Thranduil hurriedly extracted himself from his son’s embrace, standing up from the bed in a flurry of elegant robes, “Someone get this make-up off me! Now!” he gasped, clawing at the collar of his robes. He didn’t dare look at his son as he swept away, striding right past Elrond, who was still lingering on the edge of the set. Legolas spun around to watch his father leave with huge, frightened eyes. When his father had disappeared, the only people who were left on set were himself, naked and tangled in black silk sheets with a very hard erection, and Elrond, whose eyes were the size of saucers and whose jaw had hung slack in total shock.


	8. West Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas, while watching Thranduil film scenes in exquisitely tight white jodhpurs, is hit on by Bard. He is also confronted by a lover from his past, and the two events bring out the snarling, jealous beast within Thranduil. The older actor misplaces his jealous anger, and makes a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***smiles***
> 
> Hi there, here is the new chapter :)  
> Thank you for all the kindness and constructive comments on the last chapter! Sorry for the shoddy updating, but I was quite distracted by chocolate flavoured elves. If you haven't already seen it and you enjoy chocolate used in the bedroom, go take a look. It's here: [Decadence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4645296)
> 
> This is where the storyline descends into some angst, though Thranduil is in riding gear! Yum! Thank you to whoever made that suggestion, I can't quite remember who it was right at this moment, but it was a glorious idea.
> 
> I am also trying to get my art blog up and running, if you'd like to see it it's here: [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> **Anyway, enjoy x**

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Chapter%208%20finished_zpskhfe53tk.jpg.html)

Legolas’ jaw had dropped open at the sight of his beautiful father, dressed head to toe in stunning riding gear. While Thranduil was usually always perfectly groomed and absolutely stunning, on this particular occasion it was impossible for the young actor to pry his eyes away from his father. 

The young actor had the day off from filming, and he was grateful for the rest, using the day to relax and recuperate from the intensity of his schedule. Legolas had also been avoiding his father like the plague since their inappropriate encounter on set a few days earlier. It was fairly easy to avoid the older actor, as Thranduil was usually in for make-up early and Legolas’ scenes without Thranduil more often than not ran late. It had been awkward when they’d found themselves together on set, but Thranduil, ever the professional, had acted as though nothing was amiss, and Legolas followed his father’s lead. They were both exceptional at burying emotions that they did not want to deal with.

It was on set that Legolas had first seen his father dressed in the immaculate riding gear. Legolas had become bored sitting alone in the large house with only Smaug for company, and had decided to head to set to watch the scenes of some of his co-stars. Bard was always pestering the young actor to visit him while he was filming, and the dark-haired actor was almost done with the few scenes he had, so Legolas decided to take him up on the offer. Bard was on location just outside of the city, and, co-incidentally, so was Thranduil.

His father was free of his usual beastly make-up, shooting a rare scene without the prosthetics that would be shown at the beginning of the film. He was every inch the handsome prince. Thranduil was dressed in knee-high brown leather riding boots, skin-tight white jodhpurs, and an immaculate black tailcoat. His waist length blonde hair was left gloriously loose, fluttering over his shoulders in the light breeze. Legolas fixated on the tight jodhpurs. They left next to nothing to the imagination, and the distinctive bulge that the young actor could see made his heart rate skyrocket. Everything was perfectly tailored, perfectly styled; he was perfect. Legolas was so distracted by the vision that was his father, that he failed to notice that Bard was having a conversation with him.

Legolas’ eyes were glued to Thranduil; the young actor feeling familiar twinges of lust curl and settle in his stomach. He could not help himself, though, and his mind raced as his father rolled his head, massaging at his neck and shoulder; it was obviously quite a trying day for the older actor.

The young blonde’s nostrils flared as he took in a deep, shuddering breath. A wardrobe assistant had lifted the tails of Thranduil’s riding coat, fiddling with the hem, and it gave Legolas the perfect view of Thranduil’s glorious ass. The white material hugged his father in all the right places, and Legolas could make out every nuance and muscle of Thranduil’s powerful thighs and firm backside. Thranduil shifted, fidgeting as his wardrobe was attended to, and Legolas’ eyes glazed over at the rippling muscles of his father’s legs and ass, and oh god, what he would give to sink his teeth into-

“Legolas? Legolas are you listening to me?”

Legolas’ was pulled from his hazy imaginings by Bard, who was looking at him with an amused expression across his rugged features. The older man raised an eyebrow at the young blonde and Legolas blinked rapidly, “Sorry, What?”

“I asked if you’d like to go out for a drink with me sometime, maybe tonight?” Bard said, a cocky smile plastered on his mouth. Legolas raised his eyebrows in surprise, had he completely missed the fact that the handsome actor was hitting on him? 

Bard, sensing the Legolas’ hesitation, thought he knew why the young actor was so reticent about his offer. While the dark-haired actor was correct, he did not fully comprehend the situation. “Let that old relic have the house to himself for the night, I’m sure I could show you a few more entertaining things to do than spending every evening in his awful company.” Bard had leaned forward, and his lips flirted with the shell of Legolas’ sensitive ear as he spoke. There was no way to misinterpret Bard’s words; his voice dripped sex. The pungent scent of the dark-haired actor invaded Legolas’ senses, and the young actor found himself instinctively flinching away. Unlike his father’s smell, which made his stomach dip and his pulse race, Bard only made Legolas apprehensive.

“U-uh,” Legolas stuttered, drawing back from Bard a little, “Uh… I have plans for tonight.” Legolas lied. He could think of nothing else to say.

Bard stepped forwards, closing the gap that Legolas had created. He leaned down, his mouth inches away from Legolas’, “Maybe tomorrow then? I’m much more fun than he is,” Bard whispered roughly, his eyes darting down to glance at the young actor’s pink lips. Legolas’ eyes widened in shock at the very obvious advances Bard was making. 

The young blonde let out a small, nervous laugh, before he took a more deliberate step back, swallowing hard and hoping that Bard would not make another move forward. Thankfully, the dark-haired actor only smirked lasciviously, before raising a suggestive eyebrow and sauntering away from a very startled Legolas. The young blonde blinked a few times, trying to forget what had just happened, before he turned his attention to his father once more, hoping to steal a few more moments appreciating the riding outfit he wore.

Thranduil’s eyes were burning into him as soon as he turned. His father had obviously seen his interaction with Bard, and he now wore a thunderous, murderous expression. His forehead was deeply creased and his heavy eyebrows knit together. His nostrils flared outwards as he took long, steadying breaths, having called on all of his willpower to prevent himself from grabbing Bard by the throat and snarling that Legolas was his, and his alone.

Legolas’ eyes widened as he took in his father’s furious glare. If anything, the anger made Thranduil even more beautiful, his cheeks flushed and his pulse pounding in his neck. Thranduil’s jaw was clenched hard, the muscles in his cheeks rippling. Legolas’ mouth dropped open, as if he intended to say something, before he abruptly closed it and spun around, hurrying away from the confusing situation. 

Before he could get very far away from the set, though, Legolas was accosted by a few more of his co-stars demanding that he join them at lunch. The young actor, flustered and distracted, could not think up a valid excuse, and was dragged along with them

§§§

Thranduil had zoned out of the endless chatter of his co-stars, the plate of food in front of him lying cold and barely touched. Instead of eating and socialising, Thranduil was watching Legolas, who sat across the restaurant table from him. The young blonde was smiling and chatting away to those around him, enjoying a large plate of food. Legolas looked ethereal as ever in the fading afternoon light of the waterfront restaurant, his golden hair catching the sun prettily. His blue eyes seemed translucent as the light hit them, and Thranduil was completely taken in by how happy and carefree his son looked, bathed in sunlight and the attention of his co-stars. 

Thranduil had to look away after a few minutes, the perfect sight of his beautiful son made him incredibly sad for some reason, and the older actor was having a hard time concealing the melancholy on his face. He shifted in his seat, desperately praying that the torture of eating with his co-stars would be over soon. Not only had he been forced to eat with them by an annoyingly chipper Bard, who had been smug since putting the moves on Legolas, but he had been required to stay in costume, having scenes still to shoot. Inadvertently, Thranduil’s riding-boot-clad foot brushed against Legolas’ under the table as he moved. Thranduil quickly pulled his foot away, shifted back slightly in his seat and ducked his eyes. 

Thranduil’s eyes darted up to Legolas’ when he felt a foot brush his under the table. The young blonde did not seem to notice the look his father threw him, and he kept eating and laughing at the conversation that was going on at the table. Thranduil’s brow creased as he felt the foot that had brushed his slide upwards to his ankle, rubbing gentle circles there. It could be no-one else but Legolas, as he was the one sitting opposite the older blonde actor. 

Legolas eventually met his father’s eyes, while delicately placing a fork full of food into his mouth. Thranduil clenched his jaw and his eye twitched as Legolas’ foot ascended, dragging along the inseam of his riding pants gently. Legolas held his father’s eyes as his foot moved even further upwards, brushing over one of Thranduil’s knees delicately. The young actor’s body jerked suddenly when Thranduil grabbed the offending foot, preventing its journey to his father’s crotch. Thranduil wore a thunderous expression as his fingers dug into Legolas’ foot, his eyes burning into his son’s. Legolas’ eyes widened and he tried to pull his foot from Thranduil’s grip. 

Thranduil held fast, though, and this caused Legolas’ face to falter. The young blonde immediately averted his eyes from his father’s lethal stare and stilled, hoping that the older actor would let him go if he stopped struggling. Thranduil did not let go, and instead shifted his hand down the young actor’s leg to grasp his bare ankle. Legolas flinched when his father’s cold hand clasped around his ankle, and he lifted his eyes to look at the older actor once more. 

Thranduil, while still looking murderous, now had another emotion playing over his face, one Legolas could not recognise. The young actor blinked in confusion when Thranduil did not move for a long few moments, instead he held Legolas’ ankle firmly and glared at his son. Legolas was about to try and pull his foot away again, when a sharp rapping on the window next to the gathering of actors caused every head at the table to turn. Except for Thranduil, whose gaze still seared into his son.

Legolas’ eyes widened in surprise at the figure that was standing outside gazing at him. He hurriedly yanked his foot from his father’s lap, bumping his knee on the underside of the table, and stood up, moving past those who sat to the side of him and exiting the restaurant. Thranduil watched his son leave, as did the rest of the cast, with many of them laughing and nudging one another as the young blonde confronted the rugged-looking man outside. 

Thranduil bristled as he recognised the figure as Aragorn, the man who had hurt his son all those months ago back in Los Angeles. Thranduil watched as Legolas and Aragorn greeted one another, the older man seeming apologetic and sheepish in his son’s presence. Legolas had a deep frown on his face as Aragorn spoke, and the young blonde glanced once or twice through the window at Thranduil, unsure of the situation that he now found himself in.

A desperate, clawing need to protect his son flared up in Thranduil’s chest and the older actor clenched his teeth together hard, trying to supress his instinct to stride over to the man, pin him to the nearest wall and make him promise to never see Legolas again. Thranduil bit the inside of his lip and looked away from the scene and from his son’s nervous glances, trying to concentrate on his food. 

The conversation the two had did not last long before Legolas darted back in to the restaurant and made his apologies to the cast, saying he had to deal with something.  
The young blonde stood directly behind his father as he spoke, and Thranduil did not turn his head, he merely stared down at his food, trying not to react to the news that his son was about to leave with Aragorn. After Legolas had made his apologies, he lingered, his eyes glancing to the back of Thranduil’s head, before he exited once more and trailed after Aragorn, who was rounding the corner of the street. The young blonde did not even notice the thunderous expression that Bard wore as he watched the pair leave. 

Thranduil left the restaurant shortly after his son had, finishing the scenes he still had to film before retreating back to his house in the woods. He has raced back in such a hurry, that he had not bothered to change out of the ornate riding costume that he’d been dressed in. Legolas had not returned to the house when Thranduil arrived, and worry chewed at Thranduil’s mind. What if the dark-haired man had gotten violent once more? What if his son was hurt? He tried to push the thoughts from his mind, to no avail. 

Thranduil had never been one for pacing, but he found himself striding back and forth next to the large glass wall in the living room, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Smaug, who was sitting in the centre of the room, let out a worried squeak at the behaviour of his master. He’d never seen the blonde act the way he was, and it worried the young dog. The Rottweiler watched Thranduil pace, his eyes never leaving the oddly dressed man. Thranduil ignored the dog stalwartly, even when Smaug began to protest the situation noisily. 

Thranduil was torturing himself. What if Legolas had made up with the dark-haired man? What if his son was currently ‘making up’ with him. A hideous montage of what his son could be doing at that very moment invaded Thranduil mind, and the older blonde dug his hands into his hair, pulling at the strands to distract himself. He would never admit that it was jealousy that was clawing at his very soul. He would never admit that the thought of Legolas with another man tore him apart.

When Legolas eventually did return, Thranduil was sat on the living room couch in semi-darkness, his head in his hands and his shoulders hunched over in defeat, having convinced himself that his son would be spending the night with Aragorn. 

Thranduil’s head whipped around as the front door banged shut and he glared at his son. Legolas froze, surprised, yet not at all unhappy, to see his father still fully dressed in the tight riding costume.

“Where were you? I was worried,” Thranduil said flatly, trying to keep the relief from his voice that his son appeared unharmed. Legolas blinked a few times, taken aback at Thranduil’s behaviour. It was almost father-like. Thranduil stood from the couch, stalking over to his son, his face impassive as he stopped just short of the young actor. His eyes were scanning over Legolas, making sure there were no signs that his son was injured, or dishevelled from making up with Aragorn. Thankfully, he found none.

“How could you be so stupid, Legolas? That man is violent and you just wandered off with him for hours?” Thranduil placed his hands on his hips and glared at Legolas, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

Legolas’ mouth opened, but he could not find the words to answer Thranduil, unaccustomed to the caring side of his father. In the end, he didn’t have to find the words, as Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him into a hug. Legolas hesitated for a brief moment, before he slid his arms around the older actor’s waist and surrendered to Thranduil’s touch. 

“I thought he may have hurt you,” Thranduil breathed, squeezing Legolas a little tighter. The young blonde melted at the tender way in which the older actor’s voice cracked. He turned so that his cheek was against Thranduil’s shoulder and his nose tickled the crook of his father’s neck. Legolas took a deep breath of his father’s comforting scent and nuzzled into the older actor, closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Adar,” Legolas said, delighted by the tender embrace he found himself in, “Aragorn and I only talked, I didn’t think you’d be so worried.” The young actor had never received such a hug from anyone, let alone his father. It was an all encompassing, uninhibited show of affection, of worry, and Legolas felt, for the very first time in his life, as if he’d arrived home. Everything fit together for one glorious, shining moment - the house, the dog that brushed against his legs as he too welcomed the young actor home, and the handsome man that he was falling for in his arms. Legolas knew in an instant that it was what he’d always craved.

Thranduil reached up, stroking his hand down the back of his son’s head and through his silky blonde hair as he whispered, “What did he want?”

Legolas, too caught up in the tender embrace, murmured absently, “Hmm… he said he was sorry… said he was an idiot… wanted to take me out.” Aragorn was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment. The young actor, entranced by his father and succumbing to his urges, placed a tiny kiss at the base of Thranduil’s strong neck.

Thranduil pulled back abruptly, and Legolas tipped forwards slightly, having been leaning heavily against his father’s body. The young actor swallowed hard and looked up at his father with wide eyes; it had only been a small kiss, surely he could explain it away. Thranduil set his jaw firmly and grabbed his son’s shoulders, fixing him with an intense stare.

“You said no,” Thranduil said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. The young actor blinked a few times, finally comprehending that his father was talking about Aragorn, and not the inappropriate kiss he’d placed against the older actor’s skin only moments ago.

“I-I said we could have coffee sometime,” Legolas said, making to step forwards and regain the blissful embrace of his father. Thranduil held him at arms length though, a look of utter disbelief flashing across his face. “What?” Legolas asked, his brow knit sweetly. 

“Legolas, for god’s sake!” The older actor dropped his hold on his son, turning away and running a hand through his hair. “He only wants to get close to you now that he knows you’ll be starring in such a big film. He doesn’t really care for you, can you not see that?”

Legolas blanched at the harsh words, the idyllic haze he’d been engulfed in starting to fade, “Y-you don’t know that, Ada, you don’t know what we once had,” Legolas said, his forehead creasing even further, “and anyway, it’s just coffee.”

Thranduil scoffed loudly at his son and spun to face him once more, wearing a look of utter derision. He hoped the expression covered the furious jealousy that flared up inside of him at the mention of the relationship that Legolas had once shared with the dark-haired man. “Don’t be so incredibly naïve, Legolas, he wants to use you,” Thranduil sneered, his jealousy causing anger to bubble up in his voice.

Legolas, taking the anger that he heard as condescension, let the temper that he’d inherited from his sire get the better of him, “You know, it’s a little late to be acting like a father to me now, it’s a little late to actually care!” the young actor spat bitterly. It was harsher than he’d intended, and he immediately regretted it.

A strange expression rippled over Thranduil’s features as he took in his son’s words. He grimaced, as if in pain, and shut his eyes for a second. When they reopened, Legolas was taken aback at raging fire that burnt behind them. His father sneered, suddenly reverting to the Thranduil that he’d confronted all those months. All the months of slow bonding and tender moments fell away, and Thranduil was a beast once more.

The muscle under Thranduil’s eye twitched menacingly as he rounded on his startled son, “Tell me Legolas, where exactly would you be right now if it weren’t for me?” His voice was low and dripping with distain. “You’d still be with that Neanderthal, enduring his violent tendencies, you’d still be a struggling barista with absolutely no future, you’d still be exhausted and dressed in dirty skinny jeans, you’d still be having a pitiful panic attack on a set somewhere at the first sign of an unruly director!” Each sentence bit into Legolas’ heart, and the fact that it was his father, whom he’d come to care so deeply for, who was saying such things, made it all the worse. Legolas could feel his heart breaking in his heaving chest. 

The young actor could not reconcile the gentle, tender man that he had come to know with the snarling, selfish beast in front of him, who did not care who his words hurt. He could not believe that the man who had held him so tenderly not moments ago could be so cruel to someone who loved him so very much. Legolas began to shake under Thranduil’s burning gaze, and he felt the first few pinpricks of tears well in his eyes. The young actor tried not to show how hurt he was, tried not to give Thranduil any more ammunition, but he failed, his bottom lip trembling traitorously.

Thranduil sniggered unkindly at what he perceived as weakness, stepping right up close to Legolas and sneering into his face, “For god’s sake Legolas, you have to toughen up. All you can do at the first sign of trouble is either panic or cry; you’re weak, and pathetic.” He twisted the knife he’d driven in to his son even further, inflicting maximum damage with his words. 

Legolas closed his eyes as the breath from his father’s unforgiving words fluttered over his face. The young actor steadied himself through sheer force of will, before he took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “Is that all? I should get to bed early before my scenes tomorrow.” Legolas’ voice was flat, measured, and devoid of the heartbreak he was currently experiencing. 

Legolas heard his father scoff, “Weak.” Before the older actor spun on his heel and stormed into his master suite, slamming the door behind him. Legolas felt the tremors of the slam vibrate through the wooden floor and into his bones, the sound making him jump. Smaug, who’d been sitting restlessly next to Legolas, twitched at the harsh slamming also, and gave a small whine. The young actor swiped at his cheeks violently, wiping away the fat teardrops that had begun to roll down his face. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Legolas steadied himself and walked slowly, deliberately to his bedroom, trying to keep his emotions in check. Smaug, confused as to why his humans were fighting, looked sadly towards Thranduil’s closed door, before he turned and headed after Legolas.

As the young blonde reached his bed, his façade cracked and a desperate sob escaped his lips. Legolas’ knees collapsed out from under him, and he fell onto the bed, burying his face in his arms. How could he have been so stupid as to think that his father truly cared for him? He was still just a selfish, bitter man, and Legolas could not believe that he’d fallen for Thranduil’s act. Though his father was a brilliant actor, the thought had never entered Legolas’ head that he could be pretending to bond with him, pretending to care so that their on screen interactions rang true. Now it all seemed so stupid, to believe that a man like his father could change, could be anything other than a heartless monster. A beast.

Smaug, sensing Legolas’ distress, leapt nimbly onto the young actor’s bed and padded over to the huddled mass of blonde hair that shielded Legolas’ face in his arms. Smaug cocked his head in worry at the silent sobs that racked Legolas’ body, before the dog rested his head on the back of Legolas’ neck, closed his big brown eyes and gave a soft, drawn out whimper.

Thranduil also had his head buried in his arms, though he was crouched down, his back resting against his bedroom door. He hung his head in defeat and shame, clasping at his face and running his hands though his hair, pulling at the strands harshly. A sob welled up inside of him, yet he squashed it down and swallowed his emotions, as he had done so many times before. The only hint of the storm raging within was the single, glistening tear that wormed its way down the older actor's cheek and dripped sadly onto the hard wooden floor.


	9. The Beast Lets Beau Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas deals with a drunk, morose Thranduil, who finally sees Legolas' true feelings and decides to act in his son's best interests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hi**
> 
> First of all, thank you so much for the truly lovely feedback from the last chapter! I had no idea so many people loved to torture themselves with angst! Haha! :) The cover art fits with the very last line of this chapter.
> 
> I'd also like to say thanks to Azriel_Lolita, who lets me rant and warble on about this fic to her! You're the best! <3
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks so much for sticking with this fic! And me :)  
> x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/chapter%209%20finished_zpsmac5fhgi.jpg.html)

Thranduil had just crawled into his fourth bottle of wine when Legolas found him, and the sun had yet to even sink below the horizon. His father had called in sick to work that day, and Legolas, having only scenes with Thranduil left to shoot, had been unable to film anything. 

Thranduil had been comatose for most of the day, only bothering to throw on sweatpants and forsaking his shower and his hairbrush. He’d hardly slept since his confrontation with his son and the few minutes of respite from reality that he had managed to achieve were invaded with horrific, twisted nightmares. He either dreamed of Legolas being gruesomely injured in some way, or his son slowly fading away and becoming a transparent spirit that he could no longer touch. Either one tortured the older actor until he was a wreck, bundled in his bed with Smaug lying across his legs.

Legolas had left the house early, intending to beat his father to set so that he did not have to confront Thranduil. The young blonde did not think his heart could withstand filming scenes with the man who had so callously shattered his world the day before, but he felt he had no choice. What power did he have? Thranduil had it all, and Legolas had only begun to realise the extent of his hopeless predicament in having fallen for the beautiful blonde. Thankfully, the young actor had been spared the torture of pretending for the cameras when Thranduil called in sick. Legolas had never seen anyone turn as red in the face as Gandalf had when he heard his star would not be coming in, and filming had to be postponed a day. It was when the grumpy director had set about tossing wigs and various props across the room that Legolas had decided to make a hasty escape.

The young actor had wandered around the city for the day, making the most of Vancouver. He hadn’t had time to properly enjoy the gorgeous city before then, the hectic filming schedule keeping him exceptionally busy and quite exhausted. It was late in the day, under a fading sun and seated in a quaint coffee shop, that Legolas received a call from Elrond, asking to meet with him and his father. Legolas had closed his eyes and sighed, before telling Elrond to meet them at the house.

It was when he returned that he found Thranduil, sitting in the darkened living room and staring blankly out of the window, surrounded by three empty wine bottles and a fourth clasped in his hand. Thranduil’s hair was in complete disarray, and he was wearing only his sweatpants, his pale chest left exposed. Smaug rushed to Legolas when he entered the house, whining in sadness around the young blonde’s ankles. Legolas sighed and readied himself, setting his mouth in a stern line and approaching his father. He stopped just short of the couch, and glared at the dishevelled back of Thranduil’s head. He could see Thranduil’s reflection in the expansive glass window. His father’s expression was blank, and his eyes seemed dead as they stared lifelessly into nothing. When the older blonde did not make to move or speak, Legolas sighed once more.

“Elrond is coming over, he wants to rewrite one of the scenes and needs us to try it out,” Legolas said, cold, flat and detached. The young blonde saw his father’s face crinkle and his eyes flutter closed, the expression reflected in the flat glass of the window. Thranduil still did not acknowledge his son’s words.

Legolas rubbed a hand over his eyes, before shaking his head, “Put a shirt on and get rid of the wine,” Legolas said, picking up the discarded bottles. It was the gentle clinking of glass that finally roused Thranduil from his reverie. He turned his head slightly, glancing to Legolas from the corner of his eyes. The young blonde ignored his father, heading to the kitchen and disposing of the bottles. Once he’d made sure the kitchen was presentable, the young actor switched on the lights to the living room, causing Thranduil to squint and clutch the bottle he was holding closer to his exposed chest. 

Legolas rolled his eyes at the man huddled on the couch and pulled two scripts from the coffee table and opened them both to the scene that Elrond wanted to rewrite. The young blonde, never making eye contact with Thranduil, chucked a script down next to his father. It landed with a dull thud that made Thranduil flinch. 

“It’s the one when Beau leaves the beast to return home, Elrond wants to put a few extra…” Legolas trailed off as Thranduil raised the nearly-empty bottle of wine to his lips and began to down the deep red liquid. “Uh, perhaps you should stop drinking?” Legolas voice dripped with sarcasm and he shook his head at Thranduil. The older actor took no notice of his son and kept drinking until the bottle was finished. 

Legolas clenched his jaw in anger before tossing his script back on the coffee table and making to walk away, “And you call me pathetic,” Legolas hissed under his breath. 

Legolas heard the harsh crack of a bottle being slammed down onto a table and he spun around. Thranduil had stood up from the couch suddenly, hazy anger blazing in his eyes, affected by the sheer amount of alcohol he’d consumed. Legolas backed away from the intimidating sight. Even though his father was probably quite tipsy, Thranduil was still an imposing and scary figure as he towered over his smaller son. His messy hair clung to his bare shoulders and his chest muscles rippled as he strode towards his backtracking son.

Legolas gasped as his back hit the edge of the kitchen island counter; his furious father had him cornered. The young blonde looked up to Thranduil with wide eyes as the older actor came to stand directly in front of him, still furious. Thranduil was heaving in great, angry breaths, and both of his hands were shaking as he glared down at his son with burning eyes. 

All at once, Thranduil seemed to come to his senses, his face crumpling and his eyebrows knitting together in agony. The older actor let out a great, heaving sob, and his eyes softened in pain and heartbreak. Legolas blinked up in surprise at the complete change in his father’s countenance. Thranduil’s shoulders sagged downwards, his head hunching over and beginning to tremble. His father brought his hands up to his forehead and tangled them in his hair, his ruddy face screwing up into a hideous grimace of pain.

“Legolas…” Thranduil gasped.

Legolas’ heart broke once more at the sight of his beautiful father in such pain, in such utter despair, but the young blonde’s mind would not let him reach out for the older man. His mind demanded that he show no emotion for fear of being hurt once more. It was Thranduil who eventually reached out for his impassive son.

“Legolas… Legolas… please…” Thranduil pleaded, bringing his hands up to cup his son’s face. Legolas squirmed, trying to get free of the touch. He didn’t want to be held by the man who had hurt him so deeply; he just wanted to be alone. Thranduil was persistent though, and kept sliding his hands over the young blonde’s cheeks; gripping him tightly and forcing Legolas’ face upwards, “Legolas… please…” 

Legolas could not squirm out of his father’s iron grip, so instead he closed his eyes, scrunching them tightly, unwilling to look into the eyes that had caused him so much pain. The young blonde clenched his teeth to restrain a sob and stilled his movements, hoping Thranduil would leave him be if he gave him no reaction.

“Legolas…” Thranduil’s voice had become high and reedy, quivering with emotion. “Please, iôn-nín, look at me.”

Legolas’ brow furrowed, and he fought against the urge to give in to his beautiful father. He could hear the pain in the older actor’s voice, yet he had to be strong and resist, for fear of his father only pretending that he was sorry. After a few long moments, and another whispered “Please,” from his father, Legolas cracked open his eyes, tilting them slowly up to meet Thranduil’s. 

The older actor’s heart splintered at the expression in his son’s eyes. They were lifeless, flat, and grey. There was not a hint of the sparkle that he’d come to associate with the young blonde. He’d hurt Legolas beyond measure, and he was disgusted with himself for causing such pain to his lovely, special son. Legolas looked up at his father for a long few seconds, though to Thranduil it seemed as though his son was looking right through him.

Panic flared up in the older actor’s chest, panic that he was about to lose his son, that he was about to lose the person that had come to mean so much to him. It was this panic, and the four bottles of wine, that caused him to blurt out the truth, the truth that he would not even admit to himself, the truth that he’d been grappling with all day “I was jealous,” he whispered quickly, tensing even as the words left his mouth.

Legolas’ eyes changed in an instant, swirling in confusion and shock at the words that had passed his father’s lips. He blinked up at Thranduil, his brow furrowing in misunderstanding; surely his father could not be saying that he felt… that he felt the same?

“I was jealous, and I misplaced my anger,” Thranduil blurted again at Legolas’ silence, “I… I am sorry, Legolas please… oh god, please forgive me.”

Legolas let his father’s words sink in for a moment. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he daren’t believe what he was hearing. Involuntarily, joyous, bubbling hope began to build within the young blonde, and he could not supress it. He could not go cautiously when there was a chance that Thranduil felt the same. He could not restrain his happiness that his father was not the beast that he’d thought he was; that he did indeed care for him. Their time together had not been a lie; their shared tender moments had not just been an act.

Thranduil was about to apologise once more, hoping that the repetition of his remorse would sway the young blonde, when he suddenly found himself with an armful of his son and a faceful of Legolas’ silky blonde hair. The young actor had thrown his arms around his father’s neck, pulling himself against Thranduil’s half-naked body and burying his head in the older actor’s bare neck. Thranduil was startled for a moment, before his face creased in relief and he enclosed his son in a tight embrace, letting out a muffled sigh and resting his head against his son’s.

“There is no reason for you to be jealous,” Legolas murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as he revelled in his father’s embrace. The young blonde smiled against Thranduil’s neck, before taking a deep breath and placing a delicate kiss against the protruding bone of his clavicle. He swallowed hard before placing another kiss against his father’s skin, this time right over a strained tendon halfway up his neck. Growing bolder, Legolas stood on his toes, pressing his lips against his father’s racing pulse point. It was then, after the third desperate kiss that Legolas had placed against Thranduil’s skin, that his father moaned in pleasure. 

The sound of his father’s groan startled Legolas for a moment, and the young actor drew back, looking up at Thranduil with wide eyes. The older actor gazed down at his son for a beat, before he leaned forwards, pressing his lips to Legolas’. Both blondes took sharp breaths through their noses as the contact lingered, forbidden pleasure skipping up their spines. Legolas moaned a sweetly against his father’s lips, full of nerves and apprehension and tender affection. 

Thranduil pulled away slowly, his lips leaving his son’s with a soft popping sound. The older actor gasped a great breath, looking down at his son with bewilderment swirling in his mind. A delicate blush had crept up onto the young actor’s cheeks, and all Thranduil’s tipsy mind could focus on was how incredibly beautiful his son was. Legolas parted his lips, starting to say something, but was cut off abruptly as his father grabbed his cheeks, cupping his face in his strong hands, and engulfed his mouth with greedy, desperate lips. 

Legolas squeaked at the sudden feeling of his father’s tongue invading his mouth, but he quickly caught up, his eyes fluttering closed and his hands sliding across Thranduil’s scalp and into his mussed hair. Thranduil sighed at the intimate touch, he’d always loved having his hair played with, and the feeling of Legolas’ hands tangled in his blonde mane raised the skin of his arms and neck in gooseflesh. 

Legolas’ mind was blanking out at the glorious sensation of Thranduil kissing him; not in character, not on set, not rehearsing some lines, but in real life. His father was grasping at his face, pulling him closer, and devouring his lips as though they would slake a gasping, desperate thirst. The young blonde felt weightless, his blood singing in happiness and pulling him upwards, as though by finally kissing Thranduil in the way he desired set him free.

Thranduil was desperate; he was desperate for Legolas’ lips, his tongue, everything that made up his beautiful son. He was not thinking of anything beyond how glorious it felt to be kissing Legolas, his affected mind not permitting two thoughts at once. He revelled in how utterly whole it made him feel to be joined in such a way to the young blonde. He hadn’t felt such completeness in decades, if ever. The older actor gasped as he felt the steely barriers around his heart unfurl, opening for his son. He would give absolutely anything to Legolas, and it made him feel free.

“God, yes,” Legolas gasped, drawing his lips away from his father’s for a moment to suck in a breath, before he plunged forwards once more, melting into Thranduil’s arms. The older actor groaned as Legolas invaded his senses once more, and he was completely consumed by the young blonde’s delicate floral smell, his deep, rich flavour and the sweet sounds he made as Thranduil grasped at his face. Thranduil, feeling fire start to flow in his veins, slid his hands down from Legolas’ cheeks, over the young blonde’s toned chest, and down around his waist, pulling his son against himself. 

Legolas sighed straight into his father’s mouth; tugging on Thranduil’s hair in appreciation of the rough way Thranduil ground himself against his son. As the older actor rubbed their hips together, Legolas could clearly feel how affected his father was, his impressive cock already achingly hard in his sweatpants; quite a feat for someone who’d consumed such a large amount of alcohol. Legolas unlatched himself from Thranduil’s hair, grappling at his father’s shoulders for purchase as his knees became weak with desire. Thranduil caught his son around the waist and backed the young blonde up until Legolas’ back hit the edge of the kitchen island one more. 

Legolas gasped as he felt the solid wood behind him, and then let out a breathy laugh as his father lifted him up, seating him on the edge of the counter. Sitting on the island, the young blonde was a few inches taller than his father, and it allowed Legolas the rare opportunity of cupping Thranduil’s face in his hands and looking down on the older actor. Thranduil stepped between Legolas’ open thighs, pressing his arousal against his son’s jean covered crotch, and thrusted against it gently; desperate for friction.

A small smile tugged at the edges of Legolas lips as his father stepped closer and began to grind into his crotch. The young blonde rubbed noses tenderly with Thranduil, marvelling at the softness of his father’s pale skin. The older actor allowed Legolas to hold his face and press their noses and foreheads together, the action swelling both their hearts with emotion. Thranduil whimpered softly as Legolas drew back and kissed the tip of his nose, drawing tiny circles with his thumbs on the delicate skin under both of Thranduil’s delicate ears. The older blonde shut his eyes, surrendering to his son, and he rubbed his cheek against Legolas’ warm hands.

“Legolas,” Thranduil rasped, his voice rumbling through his son and causing the young blonde to shiver.

“Ada,” Legolas whispered back. He had begun to tremble in his father’s embrace, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The two blondes were so wrapped up in each other that neither of them registered the startled yelp that Smaug let out. Everything faded into the background, everything that was not part of their bodies entwining became completely irrelevant. 

Thranduil said nothing more, he only brought their lips together in a fierce kiss, once again invading his son’s mouth and claiming him, body and soul. Legolas let him, and even though he was the taller one at that moment, Thranduil commanded the kiss, reaching upwards and languidly wrapping a hand in the hair at the base of Legolas’ skull. He tugged at it gently, drawing a delicious moan from his son, who slid his arms around his father’s bare neck, crushing their bodies even closer together.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” a startled voice pierced the lovely bubble that the two blondes had created around them. Thranduil drew back from his son’s lips immediately, whipping his head around at the interruption. Legolas, his senses dulled by the heady taste of Thranduil, was slower to respond. The younger actor gasped as his father broke away and, instead of being startled by the figure standing in the front doorway, reached once more for Thranduil’s lips, trying to regain their intoxicating contact. Thranduil placed a strong hand against his son’s chest, holding him at bay.

“Elrond!” Thranduil gasped; his voice cracking. Smaug let out a low, dangerous growl as he glared at the intruder. Legolas seemed to regain his senses at the mention of the name, and the young blonde turned, wide-eyed, to look at the incredulous screenwriter. 

“Please tell me you’re rehearsing?” Elrond’s voice had become high and jittery, and he held his hands outstretched in front of him, as if trying to steady himself on a listing boat that was far out to sea. Thranduil turned towards the screenwriter, intending on spewing an incredibly complicated lie about how they had needed to practice a scene that involved them humping one-another in a kitchen. “Oh, god!” Elrond yelped in surprise as Thranduil turned, his very evident, and rather large, arousal tenting his sweatpants obscenely.

Thranduil realised his mistake too late, and quickly placed a hand over his arousal, trying to maintain some dignity. Legolas was in a similar state to his father and was grateful that his jeans masked the evidence of how his father’s touches affected him. The young blonde looked to the older actor in desperation, but his father would not look at him, instead Thranduil kept his eyes on Elrond, who was one more exclamation away from completely losing his mind.

“E-Elrond,” Thranduil began, stepping towards the disbelieving screenwriter. The wine had taken its effect though, and the older blonde stumbled over his own feet slightly, steading himself none to gracefully with a hand clasped over his still-hard cock.

“Are you drunk?” Elrond gasped in utter shock. Thranduil blinked a few times, before looking up at the scandalised man with beseeching eyes. Elrond shook his head in disbelief, before his face twisted into a disgusted sneer, “Good god, Oropherion, I knew you liked your co-stars, but you’d even seduce your own son?”

Thranduil could not form words coherently, his head swimming in alcohol and confusion. Legolas leapt down from the kitchen island nimbly, hurrying forward to stand next to his father. “Elrond, he did not seduce me, it just… this just happened,” Legolas tried to explain, his eyes pleading with the screenwriter to understand. 

Elrond’s eyes widened further, his eyebrows shooting halfway up his forehead as he began to comprehend, “Are… what… you’re in love?” The word sounded dirty on the screenwriter’s lips, his voice dripping with disgust. 

Thranduil widened his eyes, holding out his free hand and shaking his head, “Let’s not blow this out of proportion, Elrond,”

Legolas’ brow creased, his pretty eyebrows coming together in a pained expression. The young blonde slowly turned his head, looking to his father with huge, glistening eyes. The muscles in Legolas’ face twitched as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes at the dismissal of their feelings. Or perhaps it had always only been his feelings?

Elrond’s eyes flicked from Thranduil, to Legolas, then back to Thranduil again. It was so obvious to see the devoted, unconditional love with which Legolas looked at his father. The screenwriter looked astounded for a second, before he dropped his voice lower and said, “Thranduil, are you blind? He is in love with you.”

The older actor stared at Elrond for a second, before he turned to his son gradually, hardly daring to meet Legolas’ eyes. The young blonde was staring at him with enormous, teary eyes that held nothing back. The blue of Legolas’ eyes seemed translucent and depthless, stretching back into an unending swell of emotion. Thranduil could see all of his son then, even through the slight haze of alcohol. There was no mistaking the love that he could see in Legolas’ eyes, the type of all-consuming love that obliterated everything it touched, the rare type of love Thranduil had never thought he would find in his life. The love in his son’s eyes was infinite, and it frightened him as nothing else ever had. What had he done to his beautiful, innocent son?

Elrond sighed out a jumpy, staccato breath, running a hand absently through his hair, “Oh, god, oh my god…”

Thranduil continued to look into Legolas’ watery eyes as Elrond paced in front of them, muttering to himself about the wrongness of the situation, and how he blamed himself for facilitating it. Elrond faded into the background as Legolas’ brow twitched minutely, his eyes pleading with his father’s, his mouth unable to form words. Thranduil’s mind was racing; he could not allow his son to be in love with him. Legolas did not deserve that. The young blonde did not deserve what would inevitably happen if he let Legolas love him. Thranduil destroyed everything he touched, and Legolas would be no exception.

“… and … and for god’s sake! Thranduil, what would his mother say?” Elrond finished his ranting with a sentence that harpooned both hearts of the pair that stood in front of him. Both Thranduil and Legolas looked to the screenwriter immediately, their heads whipping around. While Legolas’ eyes drooped more, even more tears filling his eyes, Thranduil’s orbs blazed in anger at Elrond’s words.

Thranduil’s voice was low and controlled, the anger that took hold of him being restrained, but just barely, “You need to leave, now.”

Elrond raised his eyebrows in defiance, “Now look, Thranduil, whatever this is needs to stop, I don’t care what you two do after filming is done, but this will not continue while we are all working together, and you can’t just throw me out!”

“No…” Thranduil whispered, and Elrond could barely hear his words, “No, not you…” Thranduil turned to Legolas, looking down at his son sadly, “You.”

Legolas’ face fell at his father’s words, “Ada-” he started, but was abruptly cut off.

“Leave, now… get your things,” Thranduil turned away from Legolas, unwilling to see the hurt he would cause. He locked eyes with Elrond, “Take him to a hotel,” the older blonde said flatly.

“Ada, please-”

“Thranduil-”

“Now! Leave, both of you!” The older actor strode over to a robe, that he had discarded over the back of the couch, and threw it over his shoulders, wrapping it around himself. The older actor was suddenly very sober, his mind clearing. He kept his eyes trained in the opposite direction from Legolas.

The young blonde’s face collapsed in pain, before he threw a hand over his mouth and bolted to his bedroom with Smaug hot on his heels. Elrond watched the distraught young blonde flee, and turned to Thranduil, who was leaning heavily against the back of the couch, his head drooping and his shoulders hunched over. 

“Thranduil… Perhaps he should stay, he… he won’t do well away from you…” Elrond said kindly, his initial shock and disgust fading as he saw how utterly in love Legolas was, and how much pain Thranduil was in. He couldn’t deny that there was more going on than Thranduil simply wanting to seduce a co-star. “You’re not helping him by hurting him beyond repair.”

Thranduil’s brow knit together in absolute anguish, and he turned to Elrond slowly, his eyes glassy with tears. The older blonde’s voice cracked as he gasped and a single, shining tear fell from his cheek. 

“I’m saving him.”


	10. The Battle in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is forced to continue shooting scenes with the man who rejected him. The heartbroken young blonde comes to a realisation, before rushing to confront Thranduil; unfortunately the older actor already has company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hello**
> 
> I apologise for the shoddy updating, but I was away all weekend, and I had very little time to write :( Here is the latest chapter though, and I promise that the next chapter will be posted first thing on Friday morning :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the previous chapter, I really appreciate you taking time out of your day to leave me some love :) It is absolutely wonderful of you <3 This fic will be coming to an end soon, I only have 3 chapters after this. So, I am busy developing some other ideas for multi-chapter Thrandolas, I really hope you will like them :) 
> 
> If you don't already know, I have tumblr: [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Chapter%2010%20finished_zpsf7glsa7y.jpg.html)

Legolas barely heard Aragorn’s constant chattering, his eyes hollowed and focused out of the large glass window he sat next to. The dark-haired man was sitting opposite him, digging in to his supper with gusto, talking through his food about what he’d done that day. Legolas realised with almost no emotion that he did not care. He did not care what the man had done, or what he’d saw, or what he thought. He didn’t care about anything. He just sat, staring blankly at the people passing by the restaurant, his food untouched. The young blonde’s forehead creased as he thought back about the day he’d just had to live through.

Elrond picked him up from his hotel suite early that morning, driving the young blonde to set. Legolas said nothing on their drive, and merely stared out of the window, barely noticing the world that passes him by. Elrond tried to comfort him, saying it was for the best, and that it was wrong of Thranduil to take advantage of him in the first place. He heard the words, though they meant nothing to him, the sounds bouncing off his mind and into the dark abyss that surrounded him.

He walked on to set in a daze, going through the motions of preparing himself on autopilot, not really taking any note of what he was doing. He had to film scenes with his father that he didn’t know how he would face. He sat, motionless in his make-up chair, awaiting a make-up artist, and he tried to prepare himself; but he found that he could not think coherently, never mind organise his thoughts and emotions.

Elrond approaching him startled Legolas out of his trance just long enough for his heart to contract in pain. The young blonde tried to quash it, to smother it until he felt nothing. The screenwriter looked at him with a kind smile, sympathy stamped all over his face. “We’re leaving out a few of your scenes today, we have enough already, and Gandalf and I agree that we don’t need some of the more… risqué scenes.”

Legolas knew Elrond was trying to help him as the screenwriter pressed a revised copy of the script into his hands, patting his shoulder comfortingly. He knew that he was trying to spare him the agony of making out with the man, who’d broken his heart, in front of a room full of people. But this did not dull the pain, and the young blonde flipped through the revised scenes absently, taking in only the bare essentials.

Finally, Legolas saw Thranduil step onto set out of the corner of his eye; it was difficult to miss the towering blonde man, even if Legolas was trying to avoid him. His father was decked out in the Beast’s wardrobe, his face fully disfigured by the prosthetics and make-up. His father seemed remarkably unaffected by what had transpired not hours ago and the older blonde was all business, chatting to Gandalf about some facet of the scene they were about to shoot. Legolas felt as if his whole world had stopped, frozen in time when his heart had been so carelessly broken, yet Thranduil was his normal self, and it cut the younger blonde even deeper, slicing what was left of his soul. Legolas steadied himself, taking a large, defeated breath, and stood up; trying to focus on his job.

The scenes passed in a blur, and Legolas barely noticed the day flying by. He hardly remembered what he’d done or said, his body going through the motions but his mind absent. He seemed to get away with being so aloof though, and Gandalf even congratulated him on nailing a particularly intricate rambling monologue. Perhaps Elrond had warned the director about Legolas’ state of mind? Perhaps he’d suggested Gandalf be kind to the young blonde? Legolas found he did not care. All he wanted was to be allowed to leave Thranduil’s presence and bury himself in blissful oblivion. 

It was nearing the end of the day when Legolas had to kiss his father. It was a mere peck compared to some of the kisses they’d shot before, a soft, lingering press of lips that was meant to show love, longing and tender happiness. Legolas found, once again, that he felt nothing. As the young blonde stood in front of the cameras, his father directly in front of him in his heavy make-up, he found that could not summon emotion of any kind. He looked up into Thranduil’s eyes, and he could only feel a hollow nothingness. It was as though his heart had been scooped out of his chest, and there was left only a raw, gaping chasm where he used to feel. 

Thranduil seemed unaffected by anything, and he delivered his lines with ease, inhabiting his character as usual. Legolas heard himself say his own lines, the correct words spewing from his mouth, but the feelings absent. Legolas could not believe that no one called him out on what he perceived as the worst performance of his life, he couldn’t believe that they could not see through his hollow words and the contrived expressions that masqueraded as emotion. 

When his father leaned down to kiss him, Legolas tried to distract himself. He imagined it was someone else under all of that make-up, that it was someone he didn’t care for, that it was just some random actor with whom he had not shared his heart. The kiss was quick, and chaste, yet Legolas could still taste Thranduil. His father had a distinctive, rich flavour that the young blonde was intoxicated by; it commanded his heart. The kiss, though over in a few seconds, ripped at the fragments of Legolas’ frayed psyche. The lancing pain was so crippling, that the young actor thought he may double over in pain, but he held his countenance bravely, professional as ever. 

Legolas heard the call of cut, heard the shuffling of people around him, heard Gandalf call the day to and end, and felt Elrond place a comforting hand on his shoulder. All the sounds and touches felt far away, as if he was experiencing everything through a lens that detached him from reality. Thranduil did not linger and departed to be divested of his make-up. Legolas watched his father retreat, his eyes involuntarily torturing his battered heart even further. 

Elrond guided the young actor to his dressing room once more, helping Legolas change and gather his belongings to leave. The young blonde did not even crack a smile when Elrond told him that his agent had called with good news; that Legolas had gotten a major role in a huge new movie. Apparently his stellar performance on set had reached the ears of a certain British director. Legolas could not bring himself to care. It was as Legolas was returning to his hotel, numb and unable to string more than a few words together, that Aragorn accosted him, cajoling the young blonde into joining him for dinner. Legolas found that it was too much effort to argue with the dark-haired man, and he let Aragorn drag him out to the nearest restaurant. 

It was as Legolas sat, watching Aragorn shovel food into his mouth and ramble about how he missed the young blonde, and how he wanted to take care of him, that Legolas was finally able to break free from the depressed haze he had found himself in. Aragorn slid his hand across the table, gripping Legolas’ lifeless hand, and squeezed it tightly, “I missed you, Legs, I’m so happy that we can start again,” Aragorn said, delivering his line with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, “I have always loved you.”

It was at that moment, looking down at the large hand that gripped his and hearing the fallacious words, that Legolas was jolted into reality; able to think clearly for the first time since Thranduil had so cruelly discarded him. His skin crawled where Aragorn touched him, and he pulled his hand free, setting it in his lap. He didn’t want the man’s touch, nor anyone else’s. All he wanted was Thranduil; his strong hands gripping his face, his elegant body grinding against his own, his flowing blonde hair tangled in his fingers, his perfect lips sliding over his, his large cock nestled next to his own, and his ice-blue eyes searing into his soul. All of him, entwined with all of Legolas.

It struck the young blonde like an arrow shot into his heart; searing pain, gasping surprise, and incredulous realisation. The young actor realised that he would never again be able to kiss his father. With all the rewrites and the cutting of scenes, the tender kiss he’d received from Thranduil a few hours ago had been their last scripted show of affection. Legolas felt panic well up inside his chest as he tried to remember how his father’s lips had felt under his, grasping for the last vestiges of the memory of their embrace. He could not wrap his mind around the fact that he would never again be allowed to press his mouth against those full, pink lips that had made him feel such sinful lust and such boundless love.

The young blonde blinked up into Aragorn’s confused eyes, before he swallowed and said, “I’m sorry, there’s somewhere I need to be.” Legolas stood up abruptly, and Aragorn glared up at him in astonishment.

“Legolas-” Aragorn began, but the young blonde had already turned, striding out of the restaurant, purpose and determination solidifying in his eyes. Legolas set his jaw in a resolute decision, pulling his jacket tighter around his body and flagging down a passing taxi. The young blonde jumped in to the car, barking out the address of his father’s house, before he settled back and watched the sun slowly drop out of the sky, lengthening the shadows of tall buildings and tall trees, gradually bringing the darkness.

Legolas’ nerves slowly intensified with every mile closer that he came to Thranduil. His heart leapt and thumped against the inside of his chest with excitement at being able to see the older actor once more. The young blonde had decided to fight, and the resolve set his body alight in anticipation. He could not have been wrong, he could not have misinterpreted Thranduil’s advances. He could not have misread the lust and the love that he’d seen in his father’s eyes. He could not be without Thranduil, and the acceptance of that fact made his stomach twist in excited anticipation; he would make his father see, he would make him see how he loved him.

As he saw the beautiful house looming up through the dark forest, Legolas’ stomach flipped over, and he thought he may be sick. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the seat next to him, drumming a random beat on the black pleather. As the taxi pulled into the drive, Legolas frowned, confusion clouding his eyes as he saw that his father was not alone. There was a sleek scarlet sports car parked close to the front door, blocking half of the driveway. 

Legolas hurriedly paid the fare and stepped from the car, pulling his jacket tighter around himself at the icy nip in the air. The season was definitely starting to turn. As the taxi pulled away, Legolas stood, transfixed by the red car that he’d never seen before. Thranduil was notoriously private, and Legolas didn’t know of anyone who Thranduil would invite to the ‘cabin’ in the woods that he loved so very much. It was their cabin; their sanctuary from the world, the place where he’d fallen in love with Thranduil, and Legolas didn’t want anyone else’s presence to sully the memories. The young blonde quickly realised that he was irreversibly, horribly jealous.

The young actor threw the car one last, suspicious glance, before he stepped up to the front door. He’d relinquished his keys when Thranduil had kicked him out, and he raised a clenched fist to knock. Something stopped the young blonde though, and he hesitated, his hand teetering back and forth. Legolas’ face creased in a frown, and he lowered his hand. He could see that the lights were on and he shuffled over to one of the large windows around the side of the building. The windows were highly mounted, and the young blonde had to stand on his toes to peep into the house.

The sight that greeted Legolas caused is mouth to fall open in shock and his frown to deepen. Thranduil was facing away from the window through which Legolas was observing the expansive living room. The older blonde had one hand clasped on his hip and the other hung limply by his side, his fingers twitching slightly. His father’s head hung downwards, and he was shaking it from side to side slowly, his blonde hair tossing gently over his shoulders. In front of Thranduil, Bard was standing, his eyes wide and pleading, his brow knit together and his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke. Legolas could not hear the conversation, but it looked as though Bard was raising his voice as he spoke.

Legolas’ eyes darted back and forth between the two men; Bard was clearly upset about something, and Thranduil could not meet the man’s eyes, looking to the floor as the dark-haired man ranted at him, his gestures becoming more and more flamboyant as he worked himself up. It was when Bard began to pace in front of his father that Legolas saw Smaug, sitting in front of the couch and worriedly chewing on a discarded script, tearing the paper to shreds around himself. The Rottweiler wore a look of utter desolation, clearly upset by the shouting that was happening around him. 

Legolas was trying to decide whether or not to interrupt the pair when it happened. Bard suddenly stopped talking and hung his head, his body facing Thranduil. The older actor paused for a beat, and then ran a hand through his blonde hair, letting out a huge sigh that Legolas could clearly see from his vantage point. Bard’s head snapped up, and he said something very quickly, his eyes searing into Thranduil. The older actor shrugged slowly, still not meeting Bard’s eyes. The dark-haired actor clenched his jaw, before striding towards Thranduil, raising his hands and cupping the blonde’s face. Thranduil seemed to flinch away, but Bard quickly brought their lips together, passionately kissing Thranduil. 

Legolas’ blood turned to ice in his veins as he watched Bard’s mouth move over his father’s, and he could clearly see the dark-haired man’s tongue invade Thranduil’s mouth, sliding wickedly between his lips. The blonde did not move as Bard kissed him, and his arms were rigidly straight against his sides. The fact that his father did not seem to respond to the kiss was the only factor that kept Legolas from running from the house, straight into the woods. He watched the scene as if in slow motion; Bard kissing his father as though his life depended on it. It was as Bard let go of Thranduil’s face and ran his hands around the blonde’s body that Legolas’ eyes met Smaug’s through the window. 

The Rottweiler paused in his chewing and blinked twice, the paper slipping from his mouth in shock. Legolas’ saw the dog’s mouth open, and Thranduil pushed Bard away abruptly at what Legolas assumed was a piercing squeak by the dog. Thranduil’s head whipped around, looking to where Smaug’s eyes were trained.

Legolas’ heart leapt into his throat as he locked eyes with his father. Thranduil was breathing hard as he glared at Legolas through the window, and he opened his mouth in surprise. It was when Bard turned to stare at Legolas that the young blonde suddenly ducked down and fled, hurt and shame flushing his body. As the young actor ran into the driveway, he realised that he was completely trapped. The taxi had long since vanished, and the woods around him were pitch black. He had nowhere to run. 

“Legolas!” Thranduil had thrown the front door open, running out after his son. Smaug came bounding out with his master, his tail wagging furiously at seeing Legolas once more. The Rottweiler sped right up to the young blonde, rubbing himself up against his legs in welcome. 

“For god’s sake Thranduil, leave him.” Bard trailed out after the blonde actor, rolling his eyes and wearing a tiny, smug smirk.

Legolas stood gasping in the driveway, his eyes still darting around for an escape route. Thranduil stopped just behind Legolas, his breathing still heavy.

“Legolas,” Thranduil said, and Legolas shut his eyes and hung his head, “What are you doing here?”

Legolas bit his lip and took a deep breath, before turning slowly to face his father. His eyes darted to Bard, who was leaning against the hood of his car and had one eyebrow raised at the young blonde. Legolas met his father’s eyes; Thranduil’s blue orbs looked wild and scared, and his hands were clasped together in front as him as if he was nervous. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but his words caught in his throat and stumbled on his tongue, coming out as a garbled noise. Thranduil’ eyes bore in to him, and Legolas thought he saw a small glimmer of gladness, that his father was happy to see him, but it faded quickly as Bard spoke.

“You don’t live here anymore, Legolas, perhaps you shouldn’t go peeking in windows?”

The older blonde clenched his jaw hard, spinning to glare at the dark-haired man, “Perhaps,” Thranduil said sarcastically, “It would be best if you leave us, Bowman.”

Bard frowned, stepping towards the pair of blondes, “Thran, we were in the middle of something.”

Legolas looked to his father with wide eyes, his heart breaking at the mere mention of Thranduil’s kiss with Bard.

“Please leave, Bard, I shall speak with you tomorrow.” It was curt and to the point, and the dismissal made Bard’s lips thin in anger. 

“You two deserve each other,” Bard muttered, striding around to the driver’s seat of his car and flinging the door open. Smaug barked at the dark-haired man, and growled lowly as he turned to glare at the Rottweiler. The dog approached Bard, baring his large canines in aggression. “And control your damned delinquent dog!”

Thranduil glowered at the man as he slammed his car door. Bard threw the car into reverse, indiscriminately accelerating without looking behind him, absolutely furious at being unceremoniously kicked out in favour of the young blonde. Fear flared up in Legolas’ heart and he acted without thinking, gripping Smaug’s collar with all his strength and roughly pulling the Rottweiler out of the path of the reversing car. The young actor fell backwards, landing with a thud on the hard concrete of the driveway, with an armful of startled Rottweiler. 

Legolas heard Thranduil call out curses after the retreating sports car, but was too dazed to join in shouting abuse at Bard. Smaug squirmed on the young blonde’s lap, licking at Legolas’ face as the world came back into focus. Thranduil was at Legolas’ side suddenly, his a strong hand sliding around to cradle Legolas’ head, “Ion… Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Thranduil questioned hurriedly, looking into the young blonde’s eyes with deep concern etched into his face.

Legolas’ heart started to thud violently in his chest as his father cupped his face with both hands, his breath ghosting over Legolas’ lips as he said, “Legolas, say something, please!” 

A small smile tugged on Legolas’ lips, and he closed his eyes, revelling in his father’s tender touch once more. The young blonde would have a large bruise on his ass the next day, but other than that was completely unhurt. He just didn’t want his father to let go; he didn’t want Thranduil to stop stroking his face as though he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Legolas, oh god… Did you hit your head?” Thranduil had begun to panic, and Smaug let out a low, sad howl as he sat half on top of the young blonde. Thranduil looked to the front door, clutching Legolas tighter, “Shit, okay… I need to go inside to call an ambu-”

Legolas interrupted his father, sliding his hands up and over Thranduil’s chest and digging them into his shirt. Thranduil’s head snapped back to look down at his son, his brow knit adorably. Legolas opened his eyes, looking up into Thranduil’s own panicked ones. Legolas smiled softly as he realised that if he were dying, he could think of no better place to do so than in Thranduil’s arms. The older blonde let out a large sigh as he realised that Legolas was not injured, and only slightly dazed.

“I came here to fight for you,” Legolas whispered, blinking up at his father, “I came here to tell you that I can’t live without you.”

Thranduil stilled, his eyes searching Legolas’ in desperation, as though he was fighting some horrific internal battle. Legolas waited, staring up at his father, hoping that whatever war Thranduil waged in his heart, he would eventually chose to love him in the way that Legolas loved him. 

“Don’t fight it,” Legolas said, eventually, when Thranduil still had not responded, “Don’t fight it any more, Ada, I love you.” Legolas tugged lightly on his father’s shirt, forcing the older blonde downwards. Thranduil sighed heavily, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips flirted with his son’s, their gasping breaths mingling deliciously. Legolas too closed his eyes, the feeling of his father’s smooth lips grazing his own filling him with ecstasy and painful, gasping want. The pair stayed like that, their lips touching, their mouths gasping, for what seemed like an age, before Thranduil finally made his decision.


	11. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beast is transformed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***crawls out from under my rock***
> 
> Hello. Here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback on the previous chapter, you all are very sweet even though I torture you <3 Hopefully this makes up for it.
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful [ofplanet_earth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth). If you like a bit of Barduil, check out her soulmates AU: [Inexplicable](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4243284/chapters/9601314)
> 
> The cover art for this chapter is for [Azriel_Lolita](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Azriel_Lolita/pseuds/Azriel_Lolita), because I promised her naked Thranduil ages ago, and I cruelly denied her.
> 
> There is mention of suicide in this chapter, for all of you who would be adversely effected by that. It is only minor though.
> 
> Chapter 12 will be posted on Monday 7th September 2015 and Chapter 13 will be posted on Friday 11th September 2015.
> 
> Enjoy x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/chapter%2011%20finished_zpsma83gbo5.jpg.html)

Thranduil let his son go suddenly, removing his hands from his face and pulling out of Legolas’ grip abruptly. “No,” the older actor said, “No.” Thranduil was on his feet in seconds, leaving a startled Legolas’ still sprawled across the driveway with Smaug sitting between his legs.

“Ada!” Legolas called after his father as Thranduil hurried away from his son and into the house. Legolas lifted himself up quickly, reaching out his hands to steady himself, still slightly dazed from his fall. The young blonde stumbled after his father, Smaug whining at his heels as he entered the house, swinging the door shut behind him. “Ada!”

Thranduil was rifling through the kitchen, grabbing at the first bottle of wine that he found. Legolas strode after him, summoning courage that he didn’t know he possessed; he was tired of Thranduil making all the decisions. Legolas grabbed the wine bottle in his father’s hand, holding it at its base while Thranduil tugged at the neck. Smaug whined as he saw his two humans fighting over a bottle, and the Rottweiler deliberately inserted himself between the pair.

“Legolas!” Thranduil admonished; his son stronger than he anticipated. Smaug rubbed himself up against Thranduil’s legs, yelping in alarm at the scuffle.

“Stop, Ada, stop this… please,” Legolas demanded, wrenching the bottle out of Thranduil’s grip. This angered the older blonde, and he rounded on his son, stepping right up into Legolas’ face. Smaug began to yap incessantly, the dog distressed at all the fighting that he’d had to watch.

“Do not presume to tell me what to do in my own house!” Thranduil spat, wrapping his fingers around the bottle once more. He expected Legolas to relinquish his grip in the face of his anger, but the young blonde held on stubbornly, his eyes matching his father’s glare. Smaug was barking now, still trying to get in between the two. 

Thranduil lost his patience with the dog then, and he and Legolas both turned to look at the distraught Rottweiler. “Shut up, Smaug!” they said simultaneously, both irate with one another and allowing their feelings to spill over onto the Rottweiler.

The dog let out a startled cry at being so harshly reprimanded before he bolted from the room, intending to hide until the fighting was over. Thranduil resumed tugging on the bottle as soon as the dog had vanished, but Legolas held fast, “Lego-Legolas… for god’s sake!”

“We need-we need to talk about this-Adar!” Legolas mumbled as he wrestled the wine bottle from Thranduil’s hands. The older blonde eventually gave up the fight, instead focusing all his energy on verbally assaulting Legolas into submission. It had worked before, it would work again. 

“There is nothing to talk about, Legolas, what you want is disgusting and perverted. How could I possibly feel the same?” Thranduil sneered, doing his best to intimidate his son. He towered over the young blonde, his eyes blazing with fire and anger.

Thranduil’s mouth almost dropped open in shock as his son stared up at him resolutely and said, clear and calm, “You cannot scare me anymore, Ada, I have seen past your mask now, and I’m in love with the man underneath it.”

Thranduil paused for a brief moment, his son’s words causing him to hesitate in astonishment. He tried again, “You’re twisted, iôn-nín, can’t you see how utterly repulsive it is to be in love with your own father? I was wrong when I said you were pathetic, you’re not; you’re sick.”

Legolas swallowed hard, letting his father’s words roll off of him, still clasping the bottle of red wine. It took all his willpower not to allow tears to invade his eyes; he knew his father did not mean what he said. “If I am sick, then so are you, because I see the same feelings in your eyes, Ada, you cannot hide them from me.”

Thranduil clenched his teeth in frustration. He decided to go for the jugular, knowing that what he said would torture Legolas, “It was all an act, Legolas, don’t be so naïve! I acted as though I cared so that our performances would be more believable. How could I ever actually love you?”

A small, pained smile flittered over the young blonde’s mouth, and he carefully placed the bottle down on the counter next to him, deliberately taking his time. He sucked in a large steadying breath, before looking up into Thranduil’s eyes once more, “It doesn’t matter how you try to hurt me; I will not stop loving you.”

Thranduil took a small step back from his son then, his eyes disbelieving. He only had one more round of ammunition, and he knew that using it would destroy him, along with his son. The older blonde felt tears spring to his eyes, making the world shimmer and swirl in front of him. He could not stop his mouth from uttering the words he’d never be able to take back, “How could I possibly love you when you killed your mother?”

Legolas’ eyes widened in shock; he had not been expecting that. Of all the things Thranduil could possibly say, this hurt the most— cutting deep down into a neglected, intrinsic part of the young blonde. Legolas reeled backwards; his eyes immediately filling with long-unshed tears. He fought to keep his composure, and broke eye contact with Thranduil, his eyes darting to the floor before he clenched them shut, taking huge gulps of air through his nose. Legolas frowned in surprise; while he was immeasurably, irrevocably hurt by Thranduil’s words, he found that his love for his father remained intact. 

The young blonde’s eyes flickered open, and he looked up to Thranduil, prepared to tell him that he would love him no matter what he said. His words died on his lips when he saw the effect Thranduil’s own words had had on him. His father hung his head, tiny rivulets of tears coursing down his face and dripping onto the kitchen floor. Thranduil’s shoulders were hunched over in defeat, and he had propped himself up with one hand on the counter beside him, leaning heavily against it as if his legs were about to give out. 

It was at that moment that Legolas finally realised who his father was, and what he was. Thranduil was no beast, no snarling caged animal that could not feel; he was a man wracked by a guilt that had eaten away at him for twenty years. Everything that he had accused Legolas of being - pathetic, weak, twisted, disgusting and naïve – they were all what his father feared he himself was. Thranduil had not been trying to destroy his son; he’d been trying to destroy himself, punishing himself for all the hurt he had caused. 

In one instant, Legolas’ life finally made sense to him. He had been born on a Saturday in the middle of March, two weeks before his father’s twentieth birthday. Obviously Legolas could not remember that day, but he’d heard that it was a beautiful morning when he first drew breath, the weather unseasonably warm and balmy. It was on that same idyllic Saturday in the middle of March that his mother had taken her own life. Thranduil had been nineteen, little more than a boy, and he had been left alone with a son who had his eyes and his hair, and was less than a day old. And what did a self-centred nineteen-year-old know about raising a baby? Thranduil had been young and egotistic and consumed by his acting career. He had not seen the warning signs of suicide; in truth he hadn’t wanted to see them. His son had lost a mother that day, and he had lost his soul to the guilt. 

Legolas took a step forwards, and reached up to place a hand against Thranduil’s tear stained face. The older blonde flinched, having expected Legolas to leave and never speak to him again. Thranduil slowly lifted his watery eyes, looking into his son’s. He saw only kindness and love, and it took his breath away.

“It was not your fault, Ada,” Legolas said softly, stroking Thranduil’s face tenderly. The older blonde’s face crumpled and he lurched forwards, wrapping the smaller blonde in a desperate, clawing hug. Legolas immediately slid his own arms around the gasping blonde, clinging to him. Legolas verbalising that he did not blame Thranduil for his mother’s death opened a floodgate within the older blonde. 

“I’m so sorry, I- I should have…” Thranduil gasped out, and Legolas held him tighter.

“There was nothing you could have done. She was sick, Ada. It was not your fault,” Legolas said; his voice surprisingly calm. Thranduil let out a heaving sob, burying his face deep into Legolas’ neck, nuzzling his face into the young blonde’s hair. The smell of his son calmed him. Legolas stroked a hand down his father’s back, holding the older actor close against his body. They didn’t need to say any more, the simple action of holding one another said more than words ever could.

Legolas drew back slowly from Thranduil’s tight embrace, cupping his father’s face in both of his hands and leaning up to place his lips over Thranduil’s in a soft barely-there kiss. The older actor succumbed, whimpering straight into Legolas’ mouth. When Legolas pulled back, Thranduil’s bottom lip shuddered. “I’m your father,” Thranduil gasped out, his last modicum of self-restraint quivering flimsily under his son’s tender touch. 

“You will never be a father to me,” Legolas said, his voice shaking. He stared up at the trembling figure of his father, his heart pounding violently and his breathing laboured. Thranduil closed his eyes at the words, afraid that tears would resume pouring from them if he didn’t. The older actor was taken by surprise when Legolas pressed himself closer to him and tilted his face so that the young blonde could meet his eyes.

“You are so much more,” Legolas breathed, before closing the distance between their faces, crushing his lips against Thranduil’s. The older actor hesitated for a second, the words his son had said sinking in, before he gripped Legolas’ face and tilted their heads, opening his mouth and forcing his tongue past his son’s lips. Their mouths moved over one another furiously, Legolas burying his fingers in Thranduil’s hair, gripping his head to keep it as close to his as possible.

Legolas slid his hands down Thranduil’s chest and twisted his fists in his father’s shirt, gripping the fabric tightly, afraid that Thranduil would suddenly push him away, or tell him that their love was disgusting. He didn’t think his battered heart could take the rejection again, and he clung to Thranduil, his steady, solid form providing an anchor in the lashing sea of emotion that Legolas was being tossed about on. 

Thranduil drew back for breath, and Legolas’ lips followed him, kissing his father’s full bottom lip, then the adorable faded freckle on the jut of his chin, then the corner of his mouth, and then the crease of his nose; all the while gasping nonsensical words of affection. Thranduil’s face creased sweetly along his heavy brow, and he was unable to fight the warring emotions within himself. “Legolas,” he gasped as the young blonde continued to litter his face with kisses.

“Don’t fight it anymore,” Legolas breathed, brushing the tip of his nose against his father’s, “We both want it, don’t fight it.” Thranduil whimpered softly as his son brought their lips together once more, but this time Legolas kissed his father gently, lovingly, as if they all the time in the world. Thranduil breathed out a heavy breath against his son’s cheek and his eyes slipped closed. The warring in his mind finally ceased; silenced by Legolas’ glorious lips making love to him, slow and soft.

Thranduil reached his hands up to his son’s perfect face, stroking down his smooth, pale skin tenderly. Legolas moaned; the sound vibrating up into the older blonde, causing him to melt into his son’s loving embrace. Legolas trailed his hands down over his father’s glorious body, admiring the feeling of his toned muscles twitching and clenching as his palms glanced over them. Carefully, so as not to startle Thranduil, Legolas rested his hands on the older actor’s belt, playing with the end. Thranduil was entranced by Legolas’ soft kisses, and only realised that his son was undoing his trousers when his belt was already hanging loose around his hips and his top button was undone. 

The older actor sucked in a huge breath and grabbed Legolas’ hands, stilling his movements as he pulled down Thranduil’s zipper, exposing the underwear that was stretching to keep his arousal restrained. “Legolas,” Thranduil rasped. It was a warning; a desperate sound that Legolas knew meant that they had come to the point of no return. Legolas looked up at his father, studying the worried expression on his face for a moment, before he stood onto his toes and leaned up, resting his cheek against Thranduil’s. He brushed his supple lips against his father’s earlobe, in a sweet kiss, before he breathed out a shaky sigh.

“I’m in love with you, Thranduil,” Legolas panted against his father’s ear, slipping his hand into the older blonde’s pants and grasping his hard cock. Thranduil’s eyes slipped shut and his hips gave a small, involuntary thrust into his son’s warm, encompassing hand. Legolas’ mouth dropped open at the weight of his father’s heavy, velvety cock resting in his hand. He’d known that his father was well endowed from previously having ground his own cock against Thranduil’s, but the pure eroticism of holding the older actor’s pounding erection made Legolas’ head feel fuzzy, and his stomach flipped over and settled into a jittery excitement. 

Legolas’ eyebrows shot up as Thranduil gripped his face without warning, crushing his lips against his son’s and claiming his mouth once more. It was a magnificent kiss, full of filthy mewling and the sensuous slide of lips and tongue. While Legolas longed to lose himself in his father’s ardent embrace, he shoved the older actor away, pulling off of his mouth and cock simultaneously. 

Thranduil blinked in surprise, his mouth hanging open and his lungs gasping for air, and he looked to his son in utter confusion. Legolas swallowed hard at the sight of his exquisite father, dishevelled and rumpled and with the tip of his cock jutting out of his underwear. The young blonde took a step backwards, holding Thranduil’s gaze. The older actor’s eyes widened as he realised Legolas was moving towards his bedroom.

“I want you to make love to me on your bed,” Legolas gasped, his words sticking in his throat at his eagerness to say them. He took another step back, and then another, his eyes darkening in desire as he neared Thranduil’s master suite. 

Thranduil followed without hesitation, unashamedly trailing after his son, his cock sticking out of his pants lewdly. Legolas gulped as he backed down the short corridor and into his father’s bedroom, Thranduil all the while stalking towards him hungrily. Legolas only stopped walking backwards when he felt the edge of Thranduil’s bed brush against the back of his knees. Thranduil clenched his jaw as he entered his bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him. He didn’t need to, they were alone, but the older actor wanted to cut them off from the world, to surround himself in Legolas, and nothing else. Thranduil stopped short of reaching his son, and Legolas looked at him in anticipation and hopeless, amorous want.

Thranduil reached for his own shirt buttons, slowly revealing the length of his pale torso to the young blonde who stood, trembling, in front of him. Legolas swallowed hard as his father peeled his shirt from his body, letting it flutter to the floor. His trousers were next, and the older blonde pushed them down and stepped out of them with ease, his black boxers now the only article of clothing he wore. Legolas’ eyes were riveted to where he could see the pink tip of Thranduil’s cock, still hard and jutting upwards along his abdomen. 

Thranduil smiled as Legolas flushed an adorable pink colour, and he padded towards the enraptured blonde. Legolas’ lifted his eyes from his father’s arousal, only to be met by ravenous blue eyes. The young blonde reached out for his father, and Thranduil pulled himself against his son, his nearly naked body rubbing against Legolas’ fully clothed one. Legolas sighed in his father’s arms, moving his hips against Thranduil’s, rubbing their arousals together through the layers of fabric that separated them.

The young blonde bit his lip, tilting his head to look into his father’s lust-darkened eyes, “You won’t… you won’t change your mind? Will you?” he stuttered, still moving their cocks against one another lazily. Thranduil rejecting him had made him nervous and he was apprehensive as to how his father would react to what they were about to do.

A twitch of sadness flickered over Thranduil’s features, and he ran his hand over his son’s cheek, bringing their foreheads together. “One miserable day without you was torture enough, iôn-nín, I could not send you away again, even if I wanted to. ”

Legolas couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth until his whole face was alight with happiness. The young blonde scrunched his eyes shut, feeling the characteristic pinpricks of tears behind his eyelids. The tears were not ones of sadness, but of joy. Relief surged through the young actor, making him heave out a great, stuttering breath against his father’s lips, and Thranduil smiled back at his son, Legolas’ happiness was contagious. “You are so astoundingly beautiful when you smile,” Thranduil said reverently, in awe of his son. 

Legolas’ smile faded, and he ducked his eyes, looking away from his father in embarrassment at the compliment. The young blonde flushed pink from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears.

“You’re even lovelier when you blush,” Thranduil breathed, cupping Legolas’ face and making the young blonde meet his eyes.

Legolas gazed up at Thranduil with a sheepish smile, and he squirmed in the tender hold of his father. “Ada!” he huffed, crinkling his forehead in embarrassment. 

“But you are, ‘Las, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on, always have been.” Thranduil’s eyes sparkled with wetness as he spoke, and Legolas could see his father’s emotions laid bare. It was glorious to see past the beast to the incredible man that lay just underneath.

“Ada, stop!” Legolas pleaded, overwhelmed. Thranduil leaned forwards slowly, capturing Legolas’ lips in a soft, ethereal kiss, gently sweeping his tongue against the young blonde’s lips. Legolas melted into the tender kiss, sagging against Thranduil’s strong body and gripping his father’s waist to steady himself. 

Thranduil pulled back carefully, his swollen lips still flirting with Legolas’ deliciously, “I will never stop telling you how perfect you are.” Legolas let out an embarrassingly desperate whimper, before he reached up; seizing Thranduil’s lips once more. The young blonde poured himself, body and soul, into the kiss, expressing his boundless love for the man in his arms through the moving of his mouth over his father’s.

Thranduil wasted no time in shoving Legolas’ jacket off of his slender shoulders, and he tugged at the t-shirt that served as a barrier between him and his son’s gloriously soft skin. The older blonde pulled at the t-shirt in frustration, and Legolas’ hands darted to his own jeans, his shaky fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. Eventually, Thranduil managed to pull the shirt off of his son, and Legolas succeeded in opening his jeans, letting his aching cock have some relief from its tight confines. Thranduil’s hands were past his underwear and wrapped around his cock in a matter of moments, hardly giving Legolas time to breathe. The young blonde cried out at the immediate pleasure that began to pump through his veins and pool where his father made contact with his burning arousal.

Legolas’ hands fumbled their way back to Thranduil’s own cock, slipping his fingers around his father’s impressive girth and rubbing insistently at the smooth, pulsing organ. Thranduil sighed into his son’s mouth, thrusting into Legolas’ shaky hands, finally giving in to the desire that had plagued him for weeks. Legolas moaned deliciously as his father gave a particularly delicious twist to the strong hand pumping around his pounding cock. 

Slowly, deliberately, Thranduil slipped his hands off of his son’s cock, running them up Legolas’ body. The young blonde whimpered at the lack of contact where he needed it most, and he squirmed under his father’s adventurous hands. The older blonde slipped his hands up, over the strong muscles of Legolas’ chest, and around the back of his neck. He tangled one hand in the young blonde’s hair, while the other dug into the flesh of Legolas’ shoulder. The young actor was panting heavily as his father began to push him backwards, supporting him tenderly as he laid him onto his bed. Legolas sighed at the delicate, loving action in the midst of their passion, and his mouth hung open in breathless anticipation as Thranduil dragged himself over his body, grinding against him.

Legolas lost himself in the feeling of Thranduil writhing on top of him, forcing their cocks to rub against one another through their underwear. The young blonde bit his lip hard, turning the delicate pink to an angry red, and threw his head back as his father attacked his neck, nipping and sucking and licking at his pulse point until the spot felt raw and Legolas was set alight in a new wave of passion. The young blonde dug the tips of his fingers into the heated flesh of his father’s back, leaving crescent marks were his nails indented Thranduil’s pale skin. 

Legolas thought he might combust as Thranduil abruptly pushed himself off him and began to slowly pull down his son’s pants, slipping them off his hips. Legolas pushed himself up onto his forearms, looking up at his father through eyes heavily lidded with passion. Thranduil paused at the look in his son’s eyes, and his stomach became instantly filled with fluttering butterflies. The older actor ran a tongue over his lips, able to taste the lingering flavour of Legolas clinging to him. The younger blonde was staring at his tented underwear hungrily, his chest rising and falling.

Thranduil, leaning forward provocatively, gripped the waistband of Legolas’ underwear firmly. He began to slide the material down, exposing his son to the slightly chilly air of the bedroom. Thranduil’s eyes widened as he removed the material from his son, leaving the young actor completely naked and sprawled out on his father’s bed; Legolas’ entire body had broken out in adorable gooseflesh at his father’s decadent touch. Thranduil smiled softly at his son’s response and Legolas’ cock twitched in want against his stomach, desperation for Thranduil beginning to take its toll.

“Ada, please,” Legolas begged, his eyes fixated on the outline of Thranduil’s arousal through his black underwear. The young blonde’s hand snuck up to touch himself, roughly pumping his cock and trying to relieve his need. Thranduil growled in the back of his throat when he saw Legolas’ hand move over himself, the hard pink flesh of his arousal sliding in and out of his clenched hand tantalizingly. Swallowing hard, Thranduil unceremoniously divested himself of his own underwear, his cock bobbing in front of him. It was Legolas’ turn to lick his lips as he thought of how delicious it would be to stretch his lips around Thranduil’s large cock. 

Legolas sat up suddenly, reaching forwards to pull his father towards him. Thranduil’s knees hit the edge of the bed as Legolas yanked his hips towards him. The young blonde did not hesitate in gripping his freed cock, wrapping a hand around it and pressing a delicate kiss to the tip. Thranduil struggled for breath at the feeling of his son’s soft lips against his hard dick, and he gripped the young blonde’s shoulders to steady himself. The corners of Legolas’ mouth tugged upwards as he slowly unravelled Thranduil’s composure, darting his tongue out to lick at his cock. While the flavour of his father’s lips was exquisite, the taste of his cock was intoxicating, and he could not get enough. Thranduil’s hips stuttered forwards as his son licked a hot, wet stripe from the base of his sensitive cock to the tip. Legolas glanced up at his father then, gazing up at him wantonly through long, dark eyelashes that fluttered lasciviously.

Legolas was flat on his back, his limbs entangled with Thranduil’s, in seconds. The older actor had lost his patience, and he ground himself against his son without mercy, his hips humping against Legolas’. The young blonde mewled in ecstasy, rubbing himself against his father, as he finally got what he was craving. 

“Yes, yes…” Legolas sighed, one hand clasped to Thranduil’s ass, urging his movements on, and one hand twisted into the pristine white sheets, “Yes, Ada, god… yes.”

Thranduil was being swept away in a current of desperate lust and consuming love, and he only just heard his son’s whimpers and pleas for more; more, harder, faster. Thranduil slowed his movements slightly, his hips faltering in their rhythm for a second, before he slipped his hand between their bodies and trailed his fingers between Legolas’ thighs, directly to his clenching, puckered entrance. The young blonde gasped as his father slid his forefinger into him, going carefully even as his hips worked furiously against his. 

Legolas groaned, reaching a hand into Thranduil’s hair and pulling his father down to him, their noses bumping together. “Do-do you have-?” Legolas gasped, the feeling of his father’s finger inside of him compromising his ability to speak coherently. Thranduil’s eyebrows twitched before he understood, his scattered mind finding it difficult to maintain any thoughts past, ‘god, he’s beautiful’. 

The older actor slipped his hand from his son, before he reached over Legolas’ prostrate body, yanking the bedside table drawer open and fumbling about for lube and a condom. Legolas smiled and ran his hands over his father’s hips, stroking the gorgeous expanse of skin as Thranduil dug around in the drawer. Eventually, the older actor emerged with a condom in one hand, lube in the other, and Legolas quickly grabbed the lube from him, popping the bottle open. Thranduil’s eyes were fixated on his son, who was sitting naked and hard between his legs. Legolas shuffled backwards until his back was resting on the elaborate headboard, before he spread his legs, trailing an oil slicked hand down to himself. 

Thranduil’s mouth hung open slightly as he watched his son finger himself, slowly and decadently, working himself open for his father. The young blonde’s lips parted in a soft, breathy sigh as he worked two fingers in, clenching around himself. He watched Thranduil watching him, and the sight of his father entranced by his actions only made him harder, even more aroused. Eventually, after much writhing and moaning on Legolas’ part, Thranduil’s patience at being an observer ran out, and he ripped the condom open with his teeth, sliding it on hurriedly and with trembling hands. In fact, Thranduil’s entire body had begun to tremble, and he found himself fumbling like a nervous teenager. 

Legolas smiled as the state he seemed to have worked his father into, the older blonde’s composure completely slipping away. Legolas ceased touching his own body and reached out guiding the older blonde over him, cradling him between his open thighs. He smiled up at Thranduil, gripping his hard cock in his hand and guiding it to his waiting entrance, rubbing the spongy head over his sensitive skin. Thranduil paused for moment, looking into his son’s lust-darkened eyes, before he pushed forwards, stretching Legolas deliciously. The young blonde whimpered; his father’s large cock causing him some discomfort at first, but the pressure soon dissipated, leaving him breathless for more. 

They were frenzied all too soon, moving against each other furiously, the connection of their bodies not enough. Legolas had never felt so utterly alive, his father’s strong thrusts causing a delirium to consume his mind. Thranduil could not get enough and he tried to soften his movements; to make love to the young blonde gently, but he simply could not. There were too many suppressed emotions and desperate desires for Thranduil to control and he filled his son on every stroke. Legolas seemed to be enjoying the rough treatment, though; he was writhing and gasping and twisting his hands in the rumpled sheets. 

Thranduil had begun to sweat, his body glistening with a sparkling sheen. Legolas too was sweating, tiny droplets forming on his brow as his father fucked him. The two blondes began to slide over one another, their sweat slicked movements becoming stuttered and frantic. Thranduil gasped erotically, burying his face in Legolas’ damp neck, licking his tongue out to taste his son. “Legolas…” he rasped, slamming into his son and making the bed tremble around them, “Legolas, I’m-”

Legolas didn’t answer, he only dug his fingers deeper into his father’s shoulders and gasped dirtily, sinking his teeth into the older blonde’s neck and coming thickly over both his and Thranduil’s stomachs. The older blonde’s eyes flew open at the feeling of his son attacking his neck, and he could not restrain his depraved moan as he came, his essence spilling out of himself in great, spurting jets. 

Thranduil collapsed onto his son, the side of his face resting on Legolas’ sternum, and he could feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. Thranduil smiled through his post-coital haze as Legolas ran a hand up into his hair, massaging his scalp absently. The older blonde moved his hips, grinding his softening erection into his son’s pliant body once more, dragging out the incredible pleasure. Legolas sighed as his father continued to move within him, closing his eyes and moving against Thranduil’s lazy strokes. After a few minutes, he slipped out of his son, opened his eyes and rolled the pair over so that Legolas was cradled in his arms, his blonde hair fanned over the bed sheets. 

It was as they were laying together, their sweaty skin cooling in the chilly night air, that Thranduil turned to face his naked, and very spent, son. He smiled softly at the look on Legolas’ face. The young blonde had his forehead resting against the side of Thranduil’s arm, and one of his long legs was flung over the older blonde’s hip. Legolas hummed in pleasure as Thranduil stroked his cheek, and he nuzzled closer to his father. 

“Filming ends in two days,” Thranduil said softly, and Legolas frowned; he’d been expecting some tender endearments or whispered nothings. The young blonde nodded, but did not answer; content in simply resting his satiated, naked body against Thranduil’s. “Are you going to take the job in England?” 

Legolas shifted, moving his head to look up into his father’s soft eyes in surprise. 

“Elrond told me,” Thranduil said, brushing a stray piece of hair from Legolas’ cheek, “And I think you should go.”

Legolas’ face crumpled into a frown suddenly, and his eyes filled with sadness at Thranduil’s words. He began to draw back from the intimate embrace of his father. The older actor immediately clung to the smaller blonde. “No… no Legolas, I didn’t mean it like that,” Thranduil said quickly, and Legolas looked at him with panic-stricken, wide eyes. Thranduil huffed out a small laugh at his son’s expression, before pulling him against his chest, smothering his lips with his own.

“How did you mean it?” Legolas said softly, somewhat dazed when Thranduil finally relinquished his mouth. 

“I mean, it’s an amazing project, and you should accept it,” Thranduil said, a hand still cupping Legolas’ cheek.

The younger blonde gazed up at his father as he said, “But I want to be here, with you.”

Thranduil smiled sadly at Legolas, “I know you do, and I want you here. But you need to think about your career, ion.”

Legolas pouted, resting his chin on one of Thranduil’s strong pectoral muscles, looking up at the gorgeous man underneath him, “But I want to say in bed with you for at least a month.”

Thranduil grinned at that, and he played with a piece of Legolas’ mussed blonde hair, “We have two days… we can do a lot in a couple of days.” 

Legolas smiled half-heartedly, and small creases wrinkled his forehead as he whispered, his breath ghosting over Thranduil’s neck, “But we’ve only just found each other.”

The older blonde sighed, “I’ll be here when you get back, iôn-nín, if you still want me.”

Legolas moved up Thranduil’s body, dragging their still-sweaty bodies against one another deliciously. Thranduil gasped as the young blonde writhed over his cock, rubbing his already hardening arousal against it. The older actor clutched a hand to the back of Legolas’ head, digging his fingers into his hair. Legolas smiled and rolled his hips, taking pleasure in the look of pure bliss that flickered over his father’s features. The young blonde let his eyes flutter closed as he panted against his father’s lips, “I will always want you.”


	12. Tale as Old as Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas has been away from Thranduil for three months, working on a project in England. He returns on the night of the premiere of _Tale As Old As Time_ (2015), the film he shot with his father, and the pair can barely keep their hands off of one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***smiles***
> 
> Hi there! Thank you very much for all the comments on the previous chapter, they really made my day! <3 Here is the penultimate chapter to this story, I hope it clears a few things up. I also hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I have planned to begin posting a new Thrandolas AU this Thursday, and I would appreciate it if you took the time to give it a read and tell me what you think when it does pop up. 
> 
> Enjoy x

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/chapter%2012%20finished_zpsea4osgfv.jpg.html)

Flashes nearly blinded Legolas as he walked down the red carpet. He had never even attended a premiere before, never mind being the star walking down the centre of a packed carpet, flanked on either side by screaming fans. The young blonde tried to avert his eyes from the camera flashes, his vision blurring and blinking in front of him. Legolas felt his shoulders tense in anxiety with every second he spent on the carpet, not used to being under such intense scrutiny. He felt a slow, simmering panic begin to build within his chest, constricting around his lungs. He was overwhelmed.

The tuxedo he’d bought for the occasion felt constricting, and he had begun to sweat under the lights and the extreme scrutiny. He fingered his collar with shaking fingers, trying to make it easier for himself to breath. He was startled when a photographer called out his name, asking for him to turn for a picture. He tried to look nonchalant while giving a small smile, his eyes unsure of where to focus. It was too much, and his eyes darted around helplessly. 

Legolas looked up at the huge poster displayed alongside the carpet. His father’s face was emblazoned on it, disfigured and leering. While Legolas could not help but admire Thranduil’s expression, and the way he was still so beautiful even with prosthetic scars, it was not the blonde man that caught his attention. There, plain as day, was his own name right alongside Thranduil’s. Legolas stared at the white letters in fascination as flashes popped in front of his eyes, and he swallowed hard; there was no turning back now.

“Legolas! Legolas!” The calls of his name roared back into his ears, and took a shallow, gasping breath. Legolas was just starting to feel a terrible panic rise within his chest when he saw a familiar face. Galion was hurrying along the carpet, trying to look inconspicuous, and locked eyes with the young actor, giving him a small smile. Legolas’ heart leapt up into his throat, and his eyes roved around, seeking the man he longed for. If Galion was already here, Thranduil must be also. 

Legolas clenched his jaw; unable to catch a glimpse of blonde hair or a flash of blue eyes anywhere. His brow knit, desperate to find the older blonde, and he was about to trail after Galion when he felt something soft brush against the back of his hand. He spun around, alarmed at the touch, and was met by the gentle sapphire eyes of his father. Legolas almost flung his arms around Thranduil’s neck in sheer relief, but he restrained himself, instead uttering a whispered, “Ad-… Thranduil,” his mouth quirking up at the edges.

Thranduil smiled tenderly at him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Legolas sighed out a grateful breath, his rising panic subsiding. The older blonde was dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, and Legolas couldn’t prevent his eyes from appreciating every gorgeous line that it made on Thranduil’s body. The photographers began to call out Thranduil’s name deafeningly, and Legolas cringed at the noise and the clicks and flashes of cameras.

Thranduil leaned forward slightly, his mouth coming to rest just a hairs breadth away from Legolas’ ear, “I missed you,” he said, his breath tickling over Legolas’ skin. The young blonde was enveloped in his father’s cologne, the musky smell putting his frazzled nerves at ease and releasing the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. Legolas wanted nothing more than to sink into his father’s embrace, lose himself in Thranduil’s scent, and feel the older actor’s lips sliding over his once more.

They’d been away from each other too long. The pair had only had two days and two nights in Vancouver before Legolas had reluctantly left for London, leaving his father staring after him sadly at the airport. The project there had lasted longer than he’d expected, and it had been three months since he’d last laid eyes on the beautiful blonde. He’d ached for him unbearably when he’d been away, and had been ready to pack it in and fly home many times. But he found that he could not disappoint Thranduil; he wanted to make him proud.   
The work was gruelling but satisfying, and there was always Thranduil’s voice on the phone to help him. Though they’d spoken nearly every day since he’d left, Legolas had the feeling that something was amiss, that Thranduil was somehow holding back. He saw the same reticence in his father’s eyes now. 

“I missed you too,” Legolas whispered, gripping his father’s hand surreptitiously and squeezing it. A small, dorky grin lit up Thranduil’s face, and he gave his son’s hand a gentle squeeze in return. Legolas noticed that there was still a glimmer of unease within Thranduil, and it troubled him.

The young actor pushed it to the back of his mind as Thranduil angled them both for the cameras, smiling a contrived smile for the photographers. Legolas tried to look happy, but the foreign environment of the packed red carpet did little to ease his nerves, and he was sure that he looked less than pleased. After what felt like an age of posing for photographers and shaking hands of people he would never meet again, Thranduil eventually herded his overwhelmed son through the crowd and into the lobby of the theatre. 

While he was still surrounded by people, at least the photographers and fans were absent, and Legolas could breathe a little easier. Thranduil noticed the wide-eyes of his son, and he placed a cool hand on his wrist, hiding their contact from those around them. “Are you okay?” he asked, searching Legolas’ eyes.

The young actor swallowed hard before nodding and forcing a small smile onto his lips. “It’s just all a little overwhelming.” He said, his eyes darting to all the people who surrounded him. 

Thranduil gazed at Legolas for a beat, before he pulled the young blonde away from the crowd, leading him past a ‘staff only’ sign and around a deserted corner. Legolas felt his anxiety dissipate in the absence of people and as Thranduil turned to face him he was met by an armful of Legolas. The older blonde gripped his arms around Legolas fiercely, burying his face in his silky blonde hair and taking a deep, calming breath.

“Oh god, I missed you,” Legolas almost sobbed, the months of being without Thranduil finally taking their toll. Thranduil held him tightly, in absolute bliss at having his son’s body pressed up against his once more. Thranduil felt merciful relief wash over him at the fact that Legolas was once again in his arms, safely cocooned against him. He dug his fingers into the pliant muscles of Legolas’ shoulders, his brow twitching in happiness. 

“I think that perhaps three months was too long,” Thranduil whispered, his breath causing wisps of Legolas’ hair to flutter prettily. Legolas nodded furiously, clinging to the older blonde with all his strength. Thranduil smiled and kissed the side of Legolas’ head, screwing his eyes shut. Legolas let out a small whimper as he felt his body begin to respond to the proximity of his father. He’d been without the touch of another for three months, and his body was embarrassingly eager to once again be caressed by Thranduil’s strong hands. The older blonde smirked into Legolas’ blonde mane as he felt the tell-tale signs of Legolas’ becoming aroused against his hip. 

Legolas’ eyes flew open and he pulled back as he heard someone clear their voice right behind the embracing pair. 

“You have terrible timing, Elrond, has anyone ever told you that?” Thranduil said sardonically, raising an eyebrow at the screenwriter, who stood with his arms folded.

Elrond pursed his lips at the comment and raised an eyebrow of his own. He narrowed his eyes at the pair of blondes before sighing, “Gandalf wants to speak with you, Thranduil, and apparently I’m his errand boy tonight.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, not in the mood for whatever the grumpy director had to say, and turned to Legolas, placing a hand tenderly on his cheek. The young blonde looked into his eyes questioningly. “Avoid Bard iôn-nín, I think that idiot is still in love with me,” he said with a shrug, leaning forwards to place a gentle kiss onto Legolas’ lips. 

Elrond averted his eyes, making a small, strained noise in the back of his throat. Thranduil pulled back, shot a withering glower at the screenwriter, and strode back to the crowd, leaving Legolas and Elrond alone. Legolas smiled weakly at the scandalised screenwriter and made to move past him, but Elrond grabbed his arm.

“Legolas, are you…” he hesitated, and Legolas waited for him to organise his thoughts, “… are you sure about… what you’re doing?”

Legolas’ mouth stretched into a small, gloomy smile and he sighed, “I’m in love with him, Elrond, I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to.”

The screenwriter looked to the young actor sadly, before he nodded in acceptance, releasing his arm.

“Thank you, for keeping our secret,” Legolas said seriously, his eyes wide.

“I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

Legolas smiled at that, and the pair turned back to the gathering of people, Elrond guiding Legolas into the theatre and to his seat in the front. Legolas looked around the large auditorium in awe, still not quite believing that what he’d wanted, for as long as he could remember, was actually happening. As he gazed around the room his roaming eyes locked on to a set of familiar brown orbs. Bard was absolutely glaring at Legolas, his mouth set in a straight line and the muscles underneath his left eye twitching. Legolas’ eyes widened and he spun away, gulping.

Thranduil had warned him of Bard, but he couldn’t quite believe how much of a grudge the dark-haired man still held against him. When they had been together in Vancouver for those two wonderful, precious days, Thranduil had enlightened his son about Bard’s shenanigans. How he’d been pining for Thranduil since they had slept together many months ago. How he’d called in favours to get cast in the same film as his father. How he’d used Legolas to try and make Thranduil jealous. Unfortunately, while his plan had succeeded in making the older actor jealous, it had been over the wrong person. 

Legolas couldn’t say he blamed Bard though, he knew the effect that Thranduil could have, and had himself pined for the gorgeous blonde. Legolas sighed and settled into his seat, with Elrond next to him, and awaited the start of the film. Thranduil had been seated on the other side of Elrond, separating the two blondes.

As the lights dimmed and the screen came to life, Legolas found that he was more interested in snatching glimpses of Thranduil over Elrond’s shoulder. The illuminating light from the screen caught Thranduil’s profile wonderfully, highlighting his strong, heavy brow and delicate, refined nose. Legolas was admiring the very particular way that the light hit the azure of his father’s irises when Thranduil’s eyes met his.

Legolas’ mouth twitched up in a small smile and he averted his eyes, blushing at having been caught staring. A coy smile darted across Thranduil’s lips and he looked down at his hands, before once more chancing a glance at his son. The light of the film danced across Legolas’ face prettily, highlighting and hollowing his face in the most beautiful way. Thranduil marvelled at how perfect he was.

“Uh, how about you two get a room?” Elrond’s voice was low and rough, his eyes rolling in annoyance at being caught in-between the pair eye-fucking each other. Legolas blushed deeply, and bit his bottom lip, sneaking a glance at Thranduil. The older actor was blushing also, though it was well hidden in the darkened cinema. 

Legolas tried to focus on the film then, he truly did. After all, it was the first time he’d ever been on a full sized film screen, though his thoughts were still consumed with Thranduil. It didn’t help that his father appeared on screen also, completely distracting Legolas. When the young blonde next chanced a sneaky glance at Thranduil he found that his seat was empty. His brow creased in confusion and his eyes roamed about over the dimly lit crowd.

Eventually, Elrond leaned over, his eyes still trained resolutely on the screen. “He went out the right exit,” he whispered.

Legolas blinked for a few seconds, before he realised what Elrond meant for him to do. The young blonde took a quick look around him, making sure no one was watching, before he ducked out of his seat and hurried towards the exit, trying to open and shut the door as quietly as possible.

As soon as he had exited into the bright passageway, Thranduil’s lips were on his, his hands grasping at Legolas’ face desperately. “What took you so long?” Thranduil growled against Legolas’ lips, not giving him time to answer as he claimed his mouth once more. Legolas gasped as Thranduil shoved him backwards, pressing him up against a wall and devouring him. The young actor could barely think straight as his father ravaged him, right there in the corridor, able to be stumbled upon by any passing stranger.

“Ada!” Legolas gasped, his head spinning from the familiar taste of Thranduil invading his senses. He pushed at the older blonde’s chest, trying to pry his father from him, worried that they may be discovered. Thranduil felt his son’s resistance to their embrace, and he pulled back, his face creased with worry.

“I- I’m sorry, I thought… I thought you wanted to…” Thranduil trailed off, and Legolas grabbed at his lapels, preventing him from drawing back too far.

“I do, I do,” Legolas breathed, the adorable frown on Thranduil’s face making his stomach flip over, “I just… I don’t think we should do this here.” He glanced around, his eyes wide.

Thranduil let out a strained laugh, before he nodded and rested his forehead against his son’s, shutting his eyes. Suddenly, the older actor became very serious. “You- you still want this, Legolas? You still want me?” Thranduil asked, his speech punctuated by his heavy breathing, still panting from their kiss.

“Ada-” Legolas started, but Thranduil interrupted him.

“Because this will never be easy, you know that. We’re always going to have to hide what we feel, iôn-nín, we’re always going to have to pretend,” Thranduil paused to take a long, steadying breath, “I don’t want you to have to live such a life if you’re not absolutely sure, Legolas. Maybe it would be better for you to find someone your own age? Who can give you all the things I cannot; someone you can have a normal life with.” Thranduil looked as though he was in actual pain as he uttered, “I want you to be happy, with or without me.”

It was the most selfless thing Legolas had ever heard come out of his father’s mouth, and it made his heart flutter with love for the man. Legolas had given the subject an inordinate amount of thought in the months they had spent apart. He’d agonised over how their life would have to be structured if they were to be together, but he could not imagine not touching Thranduil in the way he wanted. He could not imagine having to make a life without Thranduil beside him, underneath him, on top of him, beside him. He was sure; he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

So it was with resolute confidence that Legolas clasped Thranduil’s face in his hands as he whispered, “I love you and I want to spend every day with you, for the rest of my life.”

Thranduil’s brow creased further, his eyes pleading with his son’s, “Legolas, please, are you su-” He was cut off as Legolas crashed their lips together, silencing his father with a searing, toe-curling kiss.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Legolas growled as he pulled away, smirking slightly at the hazy, startled look in Thranduil’s eyes, “Now, shall we appropriate the men’s bathroom?”

Legolas did not wait for Thranduil to reply; instead he dragged the blonde to the small bathroom opposite to where they were pressed against the wall, and locked the door behind them. As soon as Thranduil had made sure that they were alone, Legolas pounced on his father, his repressed desire for his father spilling out. The older blonde was surprised at his son’s dominance, with Legolas being the one to crush his lips to Thranduil’s and push the older actor against a tiled bathroom wall. He found he quite liked the forceful, desperate side of Legolas though, and returned his furious kisses passionately, running his tongue along his son’s bottom lip and pressing into his hot, wet mouth eagerly. 

“Oh… Ada, please… I need…” Legolas gasped, his hands fumbling with Thranduil’s belt. Legolas was shaking, his hands fumbling with the buckle and slipping over the leather. Thranduil breathed a laugh against his son’s lips, equal parts amused and aroused at Legolas’ eagerness. He stilled his son’s hands with his own, spinning them around so that Legolas was now plastered to the wall. The young blonde looked up at his father with blown pupils, his irises darkened by the lust coursing through his veins. 

“Please,” Legolas gasped, grinding his erect cock against Thranduil’s thighs. “Please make me come.”

Thranduil sucked in a deep breath, passion and dominance flaring up in him. He tried to control it, but he could not prevent himself from pressing against his son, lining up their hard arousals and grinding against Legolas roughly. The young actor seemed to enjoy it though, as he writhed and dug his fingers into the expensive fabric of Thranduil’s suit jacket.

Thranduil moaned and buried his face in Legolas’ shoulder, breathing in the delicate fragrance of his son’s hair. The smell invaded Thranduil’s mind, reminding him of the sweet, torturous hours they’d spent exploring each other’s bodies three months ago. He remembered how Legolas’ face contorted in pleasure as he spilled himself over and over again, and Thranduil had a burning need to see that face once more, right here in the dingy men’s bathroom.

“Ada… please,” Legolas begged, moving his hips frantically against his father’s. He needed the release; he needed it to slake the desperation that currently fuelled the rolling of his hips and the pounding in his cock. 

Thranduil picked up the pace, grinding his aching arousal against his son’s in frenzied, stuttered movements, giving them both the friction they so dearly craved. 

“Yes!” Legolas gasped loudly, digging his hands into Thranduil’s hair and pulling on the strands. Thranduil began to unravel then, the sound of his son’s filthy gasps and the feeling of his lithe body against his sending his mind into oblivion. He began to pant loudly, his hips faltering in their rhythm against Legolas’. It was when Legolas whispered something crass and incredibly lewd directly into his ear that he came, hard. His release was blinding, flashes of bright white flickering at the back of his eyelids. There was a roaring in his ears that drowned out the strained, rough cry of Legolas as he too came, spilling himself inside his trousers. 

They stayed pressed up against the wall for a few long minutes, both blondes desperately trying to catch their breath. Thranduil smiled against the slightly sweaty cheek of his son, kissing his perfect skin tenderly as he pulled back, taking in Legolas’ now very dishevelled appearance. He assumed he must be in a similar state of disarray. 

“So,” Legolas said nonchalantly, shrugging as if they had not just humped each other to sweet, blinding release in a bathroom, “Elrond tells me you’re a shoo-in for the Oscar?”


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is five years later and Legolas, now a huge movie star, returns to a retired Thranduil after spending some time shooting a new film.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This is the last chapter.**  
>  I am so sad to be done with this because it has become my little fic baby, and I love it dearly. But it has now grown up and needs to leave the nest ;)
> 
> So, I’d like to take this opportunity to personally thank the people listed below, who took time out of their lives to leave me a comment. I know it’s sometimes annoying and difficult to comment, so I really appreciate all of you leaving me some love. Every single comment really made my day:  
>  _Oiche_kinned, Elvesinmyheart, paradis_artificiels, thranarwhal, akame_hime, geecee, Azriel_Lolita, CassieHughes, aronnaxs, sammie_s43073, 222daysoflight, Klaudia, Anna, LadyOfPearls, Tay, purrrrrrrrientinterests, Hallesia, nimsaj, TinaBat2012, lunarlumina, Gladys, hallwill, ofplanet_earth, RH, 2Loverz, BlueWorld, TheRomanDweller, Autheane, Claudia, ironhawkofmischief, tcas0518, IgouPrim, SparklesJustReads, Cunninglinguist, LittleNightmare._
> 
> I’d like to say a special thanks to Azriel_Lolita, who let me squeak and flail at her at all times of the day. And yes, the rabid fan-girl mentioned is indeed Azriel_Lolita <3
> 
> Also, a special thanks to ofplanet_earth, who was such a lovely beta for chapter 11, and who also let me run weird ideas by her.
> 
> You are all awesome, and I hope you like my next AU (A kooky, pushing-daisies inspired Thrandolas ficlet), which can be found here: [Sweet as Pie](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4762721/chapters/10890299)  
> I also have another AU in the works, which will be an illustrated fic, and not just a ficlet. 
> 
> If you'd like to see some more art, my art blog is here: [Plot Bunnies in Colour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)
> 
> **Enjoy this last chapter x**

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/chapter%2013%20finished_zps6fhhmtve.jpg.html)

_5 years later_

Legolas tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, throwing his car around the bends in the road that led to the house. He was driving like a maniac, but he could not restrain his need any longer. His flight from Los Angeles had been delayed and the bad weather currently buffeting Vancouver had delayed his landing. Once on the ground, he’d had to contend with a ridiculous waiting time for his luggage and an outrageous queue to pay for his parking. The sun had barely risen through the thick blanket of clouds over the city and, in short, he was grumpy as hell at being kept from Thranduil for a second longer than he had to be.

Rain thrummed on his windshield persistently as he drove, his wipers flicking back and forth crazily to keep the deluge away from the glass. Legolas sighed as his journey continued, he’d been away for weeks shooting in Los Angeles, and he hadn’t properly spoken to his father in days, having been kept very busy with his schedule. He missed Thranduil unbearably when he was away, and he ached for the beautiful blonde every second he was not with him. There was a constant, dull pain in his heart when they were parted, and Legolas was loath to take any acting gig that demanded he be away from Thranduil for more than a couple of months. He found that he could not be without him for any longer, or he would start to unravel at the seams.

Eventually, Legolas pulled in to the driveway of their house in the woods. The gorgeous mansion had become Legolas’ home, and he relished the time he spent there, safe in Thranduil’s arms. He wasted no time in parking and hopping from the car.

He hurriedly retrieved his suitcase, before dashing through the downpour of rain and to the front door. He tried to shield his blonde hair from the downpour with his jacket, but tiny droplets clung to the tips despite his efforts.

He opened the ornate entrance carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was early, and Thranduil would probably still be in bed. He deposited his suitcase next to the door, before he padded through the darkened, empty house, heading for his and Thranduil’s bedroom. He shrugged off his jacket as he went, not bothering to pick it up as it slipped from his hands and flopped to the floor of the hallway.

A flash of gold caught his eye for a moment, the two matching statues that were mounted on the regal mantle piece drawing a smile from the young blonde. Memories of the night they’d both won their Oscars flooded his mind. He couldn’t wait any longer; he had to see him.

Legolas pushed their bedroom door open quietly, peeking his head around the door and into the dimly lit room. The only light came from the sun, weakly trying to shine through the heavy grey clouds that hung outside the wall made of glass. Tiny rivulets of rain coursed down the window, throwing shimmering patterns on the surfaces in the bedroom. Even Smaug, who was sprawled out at the foot of the bed, snoring softly, had twinkling light dancing off of his pitch-black fur. Legolas’ breath caught in his throat when he glimpsed the man lying on the bed.

Thranduil took his breath away every time Legolas saw him, but as he lay; his hair sprawled out across his pillow and his naked torso exposed to the flickering rain-washed patterns; Legolas could not help but fall in love with him all over again. 

The young actor smiled softly, still quite unbelieving that the beautiful man in front of him was his, before he tiptoed up to the bed, toeing off his shoes. Thranduil lay on his side, facing Legolas, his chest rising and falling as he took deep, even breaths in his sleep. The bed sheets were strewn around, tangled in the older blonde’s legs and around his waist. Legolas eased his knee onto the bed, slowly dragging himself across the bed to lie parallel to his father. He smiled once more as he raised a cold hand, stroking at a piece of hair that had fallen across Thranduil’s face.

The older blonde stirred, his heavy brow creasing together adorably. Legolas leaned forward, moving his hand to caress Thranduil’s cheek, trailing his fingers over the older actor’s smooth skin. Thranduil let out a contented hum and a small smile tugged at his lips. Legolas could restrain himself no longer and leaned down, pressing his lips to Thranduil’s. The older blonde sighed at the feeling of Legolas kissing him and his eyes flickered open, only to be met with the sight of damp blonde hair and perfect pale skin. 

Legolas pulled back, a huge smile creeping on to his face. “Hello,” he whispered. Thranduil’s eyes swirled with the last vestiges of sleep, before they cleared and focused on Legolas’ face. The older actor felt his heart swell with happiness as he realised that he had not been having a dream, but Legolas was indeed lying next to him. Thranduil returned the smile, and Legolas was sure he had never seen anything as lovely. 

“You’re late,” Thranduil breathed, his eyes flickering closed once more, and his mouth falling open into a delicate yawn. 

Legolas pouted, “Delays, queues…” he mumbled, before he captured Thranduil’s lips once more, this time with more pressure and much more desire. Legolas slid a hand around the back of his father’s neck, stroking at his soft skin as Thranduil’s scent surrounded him, making him giddy. 

Thranduil fumbled around for a few seconds, before he clasped one of Legolas’ hands, tugging it under the sheets that covered his bottom half. “I may have started without you,” Thranduil breathed against his son’s lips, placing Legolas’ hand over his very erect cock. Legolas groaned as he felt how aroused his father was, and he gripped his cock harshly, rubbing at the velvety skin. Thranduil gasped at the relief of finding friction and he thrust into Legolas’ hand.

“Oh, god… I’m going to lose my mind in this bed one day,” Legolas sighed, feeling his own cock begin to fill out in desperate want. Thranduil only smiled and pulled Legolas closer to himself, his fingers tugging at the shirt Legolas wore. The young blonde began to remove his clothes quickly, his socks, shirt, pants and underwear, until he was as naked as his father. Thranduil lifted the covers, pulling them over the both of them, cocooning them in warmth and soft white linen. 

“Never go for that long again,” Thranduil said, pulling Legolas’ naked body against his, rubbing himself against his skin, “I was lost without you.”

Legolas smiled, revelling in the way that Thranduil’s skin felt against his own. “I cancelled that appearance in New York,” Legolas mumbled, nuzzling in to Thranduil’s neck, “You have me all to yourself for two whole months.”

Thranduil drew back slightly at Legolas’ words, his brow furrowing. Legolas meanwhile continued to touch as much of his father’s skin as possible, reaching once again for Thranduil’s cock. He gripped it firmly, twisting deliciously as he pumped his hand around it. Thranduil let out a breathy moan before saying, “’Las, you shouldn’t have…ah… oh god… done… oh… that.”

Legolas smirked at his father’s breathy, incoherent stuttering, and he increased the pace of his hand on Thranduil’s arousal, drawing a decadent moan from his father’s lips. Thranduil clenched his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip in ecstasy. 

“I missed you, Ada, and I want to spend more than a few days with you here and there,” Legolas’ voice was rough, and he began to rub the tip of his cock against Thranduil’s stomach. “I am lost without you, too.”

Thranduil moaned, seizing Legolas’ lips in a fierce kiss, one that demanded more; more skin, more lips, more. Legolas obliged his father willingly, pushing the older blonde on to his back and throwing his leg over his body, straddling him. The young blonde looked down at Thranduil, his eyes glazing over in desire for the man beneath him. Thranduil looked as though he were an angel; his hair swirling around his slightly blushed face and his blue eyes illuminated by the weak light. He was gorgeous, and Legolas found himself wondering how he could ever be so lucky. Thranduil was wondering much the same.

The pair were pulled from their enthrallment with one another by the sound of Smaug waking up and squeaking at the sight that greeted him; one of his masters on top of the other and both very naked. Legolas turned to look at the dog, who gave him a withering stare, before hopping from the bed and stalking out of the bedroom, annoyed at being woken. The dog was all too familiar with his masters’ proclivities, and preferred not to be around when they went at it. 

Legolas chuckled and looked down to the man underneath him. Thranduil smiled up at Legolas, reaching out a hand and cupping his son’s cheek. “I missed you so much, ‘Las.”

Legolas did not answer his father; instead he leaned down, pressing his lips against Thranduil’s sweetly. The older blonde moaned, gripping Legolas face in desperation, Legolas’ effect on him had not dulled; even after all the years they’d been together. He still found himself reacting like a horny teenager to his feather-light touch and soft lips. He still couldn’t get enough of his lithe body, or his shining blonde hair, or his perfect mouth. 

Legolas sighed as he rolled his hips against his father’s, rubbing their arousals against one another. “Legolas,” Thranduil gasped, gripping his son’s hips hard enough to leave indentations in his flesh. Legolas relished the harsh grasp of his father, and it only encouraged his hips. He rolled them seductively, his eyes never leaving Thranduil’s. He had not seen the older blonde come for weeks, and he was desperate to see the contorted, blissful look on his father’s face once more. It was probably the most beautiful sight Legolas had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. 

“Legolas,” Thranduil rasped, his fingers digging in to his son’s hips to still them. Legolas’ forehead creased in confusion. “I… I need you to take me, this time,” Thranduil said, his voice gravelly and rough with lust. Legolas blinked in surprise. Thranduil always relished claiming his son when he returned from being away. He delighted in taking him roughly, stamping his mark on Legolas’ skin at his thighs and his neck. The rough reunion sex they always had was possibly Legolas’ favourite, and he had not expected to be taking his father. 

The young blonde paused a beat, looking deeply into Thranduil’s light blue eyes. There was a desperate tinge to his expression, but the primary emotion Legolas could discern was lust; filthy, dirty desire. Legolas smiled softly, before he nodded and shuffled down his father’s body, spreading Thranduil’s legs on either side of his hips. The older blonde swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he felt Legolas’ cock slide against him, rubbing insistently at his own arousal. 

Thranduil’s eyes flew open as he felt Legolas reach across him, intending to fumble about for the lube they kept in their bedside drawer. He grabbed his son, pulling Legolas against him and continuing the rubbing of their cocks.

“No… now. Take me now,” Thranduil gasped, not caring how much it hurt, not caring that he had not been properly prepared. He needed Legolas inside of him desperately. The young blonde was about to protest, to try and be gentle with his father, but Thranduil would not allow it. He squirmed down against Legolas’ cock, letting the spongy pink head slide between the cleft of his ass. 

Legolas’ hips stuttered involuntarily against Thranduil, the sensation too delicious for Legolas to even think of stopping. He began to press in to his father’s body, slowly but steadily, stretching his entrance around his cock. Legolas’ mouth fell open at the feeling of sliding into Thranduil’s tight, velvety smooth passage. It was not often that Thranduil presented his body so willingly to his son, and Legolas was determined to drag out their pleasure. Thranduil had other ideas though, throwing his head back and pushing himself onto his son, impaling himself in one fluid movement. 

“Ada!” Legolas yelped, falling heavily against his father, his body going weak at the pleasure of being surrounded by Thranduil. 

“Legolas, please, move,” Thranduil was practically begging; his brow furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Legolas had a hard time catching his breath, and an even harder time stroking in to Thranduil in any sort of rhythm. His hips moved of their own accord, plunging in and sliding out of his father in harsh staccato movements. Thranduil seemed to relish his son’s thrusts though, and he gasped filthy things against Legolas’ cheek, having pulled the young blonde down to his lips. 

Legolas could feel that he would not last long. The frenzy that he’d worked himself into had made him achingly, desperately hard for Thranduil, and he could not control the spreading of warmth that pooled in his abdomen. 

Legolas slid his hands between their tangled bodies, gripping his father’s large cock and setting a blinding pace as he pumped him. Thranduil gasped out a filthy “Yes!” against Legolas lips, and bucked his hips, impaling himself further on his son’s cock. 

“Oh, god, Ada I’m… I’m going to come,” Legolas moaned, desperately trying to hold back his pleasure. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Legolas felt his father tense and shudder, painting his own clenching stomach and Legolas’ hand with cum. 

Legolas cried out, feeling his cock being squeezed by Thranduil’s tensing muscles, and came hard, his body shaking with the force of it. He managed to prop himself up over Thranduil’s writhing form for only a few seconds, before his trembling arms gave out and he collapsed onto his father’s chest. Thranduil’s arms were around him immediately, enveloping him shakily.

Legolas closed his eyes, his breathing ragged and breathy against his father’s skin. His lips twitched up into a smile as they both lay, spent and gasping in one another’s arms. Legolas thought absently that if paradise existed, it might feel something like what he was experiencing at that moment.

§§§

Legolas’ nose twitched as the smell of bacon woke him from his glorious slumber. He rolled over; taking most of the tangled bed sheets with him, and ran a hand through his mussed hair. The young blonde stretched languidly and opened his eyes. The sun was now streaming in through the window, the storm having cleared, and Legolas scrunched his eyes shut once more. He placed a hand over his eyes, rubbing them gently. 

Thranduil had been insatiable all morning and his body felt stiff and sore, but incredibly sated. Legolas gave once last stretch to his muscles, before he swung himself out of the huge bed, grabbing his father’s robe and flinging it over his shoulders. The thought did not even cross the sleepy young blonde’s mind as to why his father was not wearing said robe.

Legolas stumbled out of the bedroom, following the glorious smell of bacon to the kitchen. He stopped dead and blinked furiously when he saw precisely what was cooking the bacon. Thranduil was stark naked, apart from a striking red apron that hung around his neck and hips. The older blonde was facing the stove, giving Legolas a perfect, absolutely sublime view of his tight ass. The young actor’s mouth fell open at the sight of the toned muscles of Thranduil’s ass clenching and rippling as he moved to flip the bacon in the pan. The older actor’s hair hung loose down his back, swaying with his movements enchantingly. 

Legolas could only stare at the wondrous sight for a few moments, his sated cock suddenly twitching in anticipation, before Thranduil noticed a presence and turned around. Legolas yearned for the view of his ass once more.

“Breakfast?” Thranduil questioned, arching an eyebrow at the hungry look on his son’s face. It was mid-afternoon, and the ‘breakfast’ would technically be an early dinner. Legolas did not want the food though; he wanted Thranduil. 

“After,” Legolas said, already striding towards his father. Thranduil looked puzzled for a moment, before he realised what his son meant. 

Legolas crashed his lips against his father’s, cupping Thranduil’s face in his hands and pressing the length of his body against him. Thranduil dropped the spatula in his hand, the metal utensil clattering to the floor loudly. The sound woke Smaug, who was napping on the couch. The dog looked over to the disturbance, saw his masters starting to divest themselves of their clothing, and let out a low growl before exiting the room once more.

“W-why are you naked under this?” Legolas gasped, tugging at Thranduil’s apron. The young blonde slid his hands to the back of the small scrap of clothing, pulling on the strings to loosen it. Thranduil already had his hands in the robe his son wore, sliding his palms against every inch of skin he could find. Thranduil shrugged in response to the question, before he covered Legolas’ mouth with his own, the taste of his son his terrible obsession.

Legolas slipped his hands under the red fabric once more, his fingers immediately coming in to contact with Thranduil’s large, stiff cock. Thranduil bucked his hips into Legolas’ hands, before he gripped the young blonde’s head, spinning him so that he was pressed against the kitchen island counter. Legolas gasped and laughed simultaneously, delighted that Thranduil had decided that pleasuring him was more important than the bacon cooking on the stovetop. His father had always been very serious about bacon.

Thranduil almost ripped the robe that covered Legolas as he divested his son of it, throwing the scrap of material onto the kitchen floor. Legolas was a glorious sight to behold; completely naked, blonde hair clinging to the slight sweat that glistened on his chest, framed by the glorious view out over Mirkwood forest, and his eyes burning with desire. Thranduil could hardly believe that his gorgeous, talented, famous son still looked at him as though he were the only man in the world. 

“Ada!” Legolas moaned, rubbing up against Thranduil impatiently as his father mused on how beautiful he looked. Thranduil smirked at his son’s eagerness, before pulling the loose apron over his head, leaving nothing between their pale, lithe bodies.

Thranduil spun Legolas once again, forcing his son to bend over the counter, his hands sprawling over the smooth wood. Legolas let out a breathy laugh that turned to a deep moan as his father rubbed himself against his ass, his hard cock sliding over his pliant, puckered entrance. They had spent all day in bed, losing themselves in one another and their excitement to be reunited once more. Legolas’ body was gloriously sore, yet still loose and pliable from their previous activities; and it allowed Thranduil to slip into him with ease, stretching him deliciously. 

Legolas scrabbled for purchase on the counter, clawing at the smooth wood as Thranduil ground in to him, covering his body with his own. Legolas gasped in a huge, eager breath as Thranduil ran his teeth across the side of his neck, biting down gently on his still-tender skin. Legolas lurched forwards at the sensation, trapping his own pounding cock between the counter and himself. Thranduil smirked at his neck and laved his tongue over the abused flesh, moving up to suck the tip of Legolas’ ear into his mouth as he continued to fuck him, long and slow. 

Legolas clenched his eyes shut as Thranduil sucked on his ear. The older blonde knew that it drove him mad with desire, and his hips twitched against the counter, trying to rub himself off. Thranduil ran a hand around Legolas’ neck then, feeling the young blonde try to pleasure his own cock. He grasped Legolas’ loosely around the neck, forcing his head backwards and causing his spine to arch in Thranduil’s embrace. 

“Ada,” Legolas rasped, before Thranduil covered his lips with his own. He forced his tongue into his son’s mouth, claiming the young blonde as his own with his lips and the slow pull of his cock. Legolas whimpered against his father’s mouth, his senses assaulted with the touch, taste and smell of Thranduil. He lost himself in them, surrendering to the dominance of his father once more as his thrusts became more frenzied, more stuttered. 

Eventually, Thranduil gasped out a warning and Legolas shuddered a violent release, coming all over the side of the counter, thick and messy. It was probably not the most sanitary thing to do in a kitchen, but Legolas was delirious beyond caring. Thranduil’s hips snapped against his; once, twice and a third time before he too tensed and came deep within Legolas. 

Thranduil leaned heavily against his son, still buried to the hilt within him, as they both caught their breath. Legolas smiled softly as his pounding heart rate levelled out and he descended out of the haze of passion and sex that he had been caught up in. His nose twitched as a somewhat acrid smell floated past it.

“The bacon’s burning,” Legolas sighed, shutting his eyes. 

§§§

Legolas sighed, his body sore and sated in the most delicious way possible. He flopped on to the couch, towelling his hair dry from his shower absently as he flicked on the large TV that hung on one of the living room walls. Smaug had deemed it safe to re-enter the living room, sure that his masters could not possibly go at it again. The Rottweiler rubbed himself against Legolas’ sweatpants-clad legs, squeaking softly at his young blonde master. He too missed Legolas when he was away.

Legolas ruffled the dog’s ears fondly, smiling down at him. He’d grown older and larger, and somewhat cheekier, but was still a big puppy underneath. It was as Legolas was scratching underneath Smaug’s chin, a favourite of the dog, that his eye was caught by a news segment that was playing on the TV. Legolas’ mouth dropped open in shock. 

“Ada!” the young blonde called, “Ada, come here, you have to see this!”

Thranduil strolled in to the living room, wrapping a towel messily around his head and pulling his robe closed around his taught body. He and Legolas had just shared an incredible, passionate shower, and he felt completely relaxed once more. He frowned at the intense expression of shock evident on his son’s face as he gaped at the TV screen. 

“What is it?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he walked around to get a good view of the screen. “Let me guess, Benedict Cumberbatch decided to go shirtless on his yacht again?” he smirked; he would never let Legolas know that he was actually incredibly jealous of the young actor’s fondness for the pale chest of the British actor. He’d just have to take Legolas once more, preferably over the couch he was sitting on, to remind him who he belonged to. 

Legolas shook his head dumbly, raising his hand to point at the screen, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips. Thranduil cocked his head as he watched the news segment, disbelief clouding his features.

Displayed on the screen was a grainy bit of film, clearly showing Bard Bowman being attacked by what looked like a rabid fan-girl. The newsreader presenting the story could barely keep the snigger out of her voice as she spoke; explaining that a woman had gotten over the barriers at Bard’s latest movie premiere and had crotch-punched him in front of an entire herd of photographers. Not to mention the TV cameras and hundreds of screaming fans. 

After punching Bard, the woman had been dragged off by security, leaving the attacked man writhing on the ground in agony, clutching at his groin.

Legolas’ let out a short, sharp laugh, before turning to look at Thranduil. “I like her,” he said, smiling. 

“Legolas, you shouldn’t laugh…” Thranduil began seriously, but his own lips had begun to curl up into a smile. It was not long before both blondes were laughing out aloud at Bard’s misfortune. 

“It was only a matter of time before someone punched him in the crotch,” Legolas said through his laughter. Thranduil sighed and flopped down onto the couch next to his son, sniggers of laughter still passing his lips. Legolas turned to his father, snuggling up against Thranduil’s broad, strong chest. Thranduil wrapped his arm around Legolas, playing with the ends of his damp hair as they sat, cocooned in one another and completely happy. 

After a few lovely moments of easy silence, Smaug’s whimper broke through their bubble. Legolas rolled his eyes, before patting the seat next to him. Smaug squeaked in happiness and leapt onto the couch, rolling himself up into a ball next to Legolas and promptly falling asleep. 

Legolas shifted, tilting his face up to look at his father. Thranduil gazed down at Legolas with a small, contented smile gracing his full lips. 

“I love you, Ada,” Legolas whispered, stretching up to place a tiny kiss on Thranduil’s strong jaw. Thranduil could not remember ever feeling as happy as he did in that moment; with a damp Legolas cradled in his arms and a sleepy Smaug curled up next to him.

“I love you too, iôn-nín.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for reading, everyone, I really appreciate it.**
> 
> I would like to ask a huge favour of you.  
> If you have read this piece, and you have the time and the inclination, I would love for you to drop me a comment and let me know what worked for you and what didn’t. Not only am I trying to improve my writing, but I am also curious as to how many people actually read this (as the Thrandolas ship is not very large, I think). 
> 
> So, if you could leave a tiny comment that would be great. If you would rather remain anonymous, or if you don’t like AO3, I would be grateful if you could send me an ask on my personal Tumblr ([The Repressed Creative](http://therepressedcreative.tumblr.com/)) just so that I can get a sense of the size of my audience of readers. I will absolutely not reblog your asks, I promise. This is purely for my own curiosity.
> 
> If you read it and would rather not interact with me, I completely understand, and I only hope that you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> **Thank you once again,**  
>  **S**


	14. Sequel Feelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Info on the planned TAOAT sequel.

**Hi there! :)**

Since so many of my subscribers to this story have hung around, I decided to post an update of what is happening with the sequel here. I had a weird kick of inspiration last night, and I planned a very long, complicated, angsty sequel. This post is purely to put some feelers out as to who would be interested in reading it.

Is anyone out there still reading Thrandolas?

Here's some info:

The sequel will be 20 chapters long and have art for each chapter (Just like TAOAT). It will be called 'Song as Old as Rhyme' (Cos heh), and I will be basing each chapter on a song, with the chapter titles being the titles of said songs. I will be continuing with the actor!Thranduil/actor!Legolas AU, and it will feel very much the same as TAOAT (but with better writing, hopefully). I will update every Friday, starting this Friday (12th Feb 2016).

What I would like to know from you is:  
**a) would you be interested in reading such a thing?**  
**b) would you be interested in throwing some ideas around with me to include in such a thing? I love to include tidbits from my readers as I write, and this helps my process immensely.**

Here is the cover art, as a little teaser - 

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/SAOAR%20Chapter%201%20watermark_zpshxtfanx9.jpg.html)

If you're interested, let me know with a little 'I' in the comments. If you'd like to suggest some ideas for cute/angsty interludes, go right ahead. 

Have a lovely day <3

**UPDATE:** The sequel has been written and is posting here: [Song as Old as Rhyme](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5960571/chapters/13698162)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Come and follow my art blog:[plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)**

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading, much appreciated :)**


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